


Treading Water

by fortunesfavorite



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-21
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 58,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunesfavorite/pseuds/fortunesfavorite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love, lust and loss, slapstick by the sea, plus monsters and moral quandaries...a season 6 Spuffy story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Starts pretty much right after 'Afterlife', meaning; Buffy is back from Heaven, Spike knows where she was, no one else does. You know, Season 6. No trio; it's AU, I suppose though not very; different things happen. You will have to wait a few chapters for some of the things promised in the summary.
> 
> Characters and settings and backstories do not belong to me and no disrespect is intended, just having fun. Thanks Joss! Thanks other writers! We love you!

Boring. There was no other word for it. Sure, living forever was a dream, even if one wasn't technically 'living', and usually the world offered more than enough excitement to fill even a vampire's un-lifetime, but there were times when it was just...boring. He'd given up terrorizing, maiming and killing, and that was bad enough, but now there weren't even any demons to fight, or poker games to bully his way in to, nothing on TV, and worst of all, with Buffy off in LA, not even much chance the Scoobies would come to him for help. “Good enough to save their bloody necks all the time before, when she was gone,” he thought, “but now it's back to the old 'we don't need no stinkin undead'...”

Spike glared at the black and white television, but refrained from kicking it, knowing he'd regret it by the next day at the latest. “Oh God!” he thought—“On top of everything else, am I getting OLD?? Since when do I care about tomorrow? About consequences?!”

Most days he accepted his new role in life; he hadn't chosen it, really, but he had come to feel that the rewards outweighed the losses—but it had only been a couple of years, out of a very long life, and sometimes it felt very short. This was one of those days—when his situation felt like a new low in a series of lows he could never have imagined, let alone imagined getting worse.

So when the door slammed open with a familiar crash he breathed an unnecessary but heartfelt sigh of relief, savoring the familiar scent of his Slayer without bothering to look around. “So,” he began, “I guess LA-”

“Shut up Spike,” she interrupted. “Never mind about LA. I need to talk to you and if you don't know why you should.”

Now this was interesting! He looked around to find her standing a few feet away, clutching a stake and looking—teary? His brow furrowed as he looked more closely. Her clothes were rumpled and she looked completely distraught, though she'd clearly tried to hide it. What was going on?

“Buffy?” he said softly, “What happened? What do you mean I know...”

“Oh give it up!” she yelled, somewhat shrilly, “just stop! It's over!”

“Now doll, you're gonna have to give me a little more to go on that that, right? I'll get into whatever it is you need me to, but I really don't have the first notion what you're on about here, luv...” Spike said in his best soothing, mature voice. Some people didn't think Spike had it in him to be patient, let alone mature, but if there was one thing he'd had practice at it was soothing hysterical women. Mostly from his years (decades!) with Drusilla of course, but he had come to that relationship well prepared, having come of age in an era when fainting at the least thing and general flightiness were expected of a lady. He hadn't missed it; but he was prepared.

However, the old standby voice didn't seem to be working. Buffy looked, if anything, more upset, and though she was trying to hide it, she was really beginning to tear up, though he couldn't tell if it was with sadness or frustration.

“Stop!” she yelled; “just... and don't call me that! Don't call me any of that—my name is — don't call me that either! Since when do you even use my name?! I'm the Slayer, you're a vampire, that's it! God, I don't know why I even came here!”

And she spun around, wiping her face with her arm, stake still clutched in her fist, forgotten, as she barreled back out the open door she'd come in barely a few minutes before. Spike leapt up and went after her, only to be brought up against the last rays of the afternoon sun slanting across the doorway. He teetered on the edge of the shadow indecisively as she gathered her things from outside and sped off over the grass. Was that luggage she was hauling around? Had she come to the crypt straight from the train, or bus, or... the point was, without going home first? Just what in hell was going on with her now?

“Buffy—Slayer—hey! Where d'ya think you're GOING?” he called after her ineffectively.

She'd reached the cemetery gates and he still hadn't figured out what to do. He tried to figure how long until the sun dipped that last bit below the horizon—should he wait? Or just run after her now? Should he go to the magic shop? Would the witches fill him in? Did they even know anything? Anya would tell him what was up... No. He spun around, making sure to close the door so no meandering demons would notice his posh set-up—and oh god he really was becoming a proper geezer—and crammed his feet into his boots, tying them sloppily, shrugged his duster on crooked while pulling smokes out, dropped the 10 or so feet to the lower level and lit up as he headed out into the tunnel. More than likely this would all turn out to be some kind of trivial Slayer kerfuffle brought on by contact with dear old Angelus, oh I mean Aaangel— pfft—, but if nothing else he was intrigued to see her so animated. She hadn't exactly been cheerful, these weeks since her, ah, return, but she hadn't seemed actively agitated like this either, with the yelling and the kicking and the crying, even. Mad at someone else would've been a lot more fun to watch, but it was good to see a flash of liveliness nonetheless. And now he had a mission—a mystery!—and a Slayer to placate, if he could get her to tell him what the hell was on her mind.

\-------------------------------------

By the time Spike's bleached locks peeked out of the manhole on Revello Drive, the sun had gone and dusk set in. He looked around cautiously, then slunk out and over towards Buffy's house. Positioning himself behind his customary tree he went still, stopped breathing, and focused all his attention on listening to the sounds coming from the house. At first he could only hear the neighborhood sounds— a dog somewhere nearby, a muffled argument in the house across the street— but after a moment he could pick out the voices of the Slayer and her friends.

It seemed pretty ordinary—how was your trip, fine, is Dawn OK, she's at her mates house, blah blah blah, Angel—Spike tensed and focused even more, which helped not at all. Buffy was saying something in a quiet voice to Tara, which he could make out barely at all due to someone — Willow it seemed — bustling around and about like a sodding moth, picking things up and setting them down noisily. What the hell was she so antsy for? Why couldn't she just sit down and ask Buffy how her trip was and then shut the hell up and listen?! Spike edged closer to the house, sliding around the side towards the back of the house, where windows were opened onto the mild evening. He found he could see in a bit, as well as hear, and went still again.

“Seeing Angel... he was so... I don't know what I thought it would be.... I mean, he was so happy to see me and everything, you know, but I thought it would be— different. It was like I never even— like every time I see him. Except, you know, I always forget— I think it'll be more— that we're more— no, I mean— I just never know what he thinks! About anything! And....oh, I don't know, never mind.”

“It's okay, sweetie, I get it. Something so huge happened to you, but it didn't really change anything, right? He still has his life in LA, and....”

“And I have my life here? Yeah. Forget it anyway,” Buffy got up from the table and wrapped her arms around herself. “I'm gonna go unpack and patrol, or, you know...” she trailed off, leaving the room. Tara watched her go, looking worried.

Well, that was unenlightening! thought Spike. And she was right back to normal, or her new normal at least. It was as if the episode at his crypt had never happened. It was nice to know the big dramatic reunion had been a bit of a flop at least....He made his way back around to the tree in front thoughtfully, and settled in to keep an eye on the things as the last light faded from the sky and the streetlights came on.


	2. Chapter 2

A few hours passed as Spike stood out front, waiting. Dawn came home and passed the tree by obliviously, focused on her destination. The witches made dinner and he heard them all chattering and clattering over it, though he had a hard time picking out any of Buffy's mumbled contributions. Things quieted and wound down, and he waited. And after an interval, the door opened and Buffy came out dressed to patrol, immediately looking over and sighing as she eased the front door closed behind her.

“I told you to leave me alone, Spike! What do you want now?” she asked, but it lacked conviction. It certainly didn't have any of the fire she'd displayed earlier.

“Not wanting anything really,” he lied, “just checking in. Go for a bit of patrol? A little violence, maybe a drink? Maybe you could tell me what the hell is going on??”

“I so don't need this right now. Go home, go anywhere, leave me alone, go kill things and have as many drinks as you want—of alcohol! Liquor! Drink lots of liquor!” she added quickly.

“Yeah, liquor,” he said steadily, “since when is that in question? Couple days with the soul man and suddenly you forgot that some of us don't need some as-seen-on-TV trashy fake-gypsy curse to not drain the populace? Plus, fucking chipped! Can't really stray if I wanted to, which I wouldn't anyway, and why the hell are we even having this talk?!”

“Fake gypsy? The gypsies were fake?” she looked interested. “I thought Ms Calendar was a real gypsy— they had a tribe and that headmaster guy and everything-”

“I don't know! I'm sure they were real gypsies, they had the proper little wagons and all that, it just seems a bit showy— never mind about that!” She seemed determined to get him off the track. Fine. Don't want to talk about it? We won't talk about it. Only... she yelled! And cried! And she came to him, it's not like he was coming around begging her for details before she sought him out! The least she could do is let him in on the big secret before going right back to being all new post-resurrection style apathy Buffy!

“Buffy!” he tried again.

She rolled her eyes and trod single-mindedly towards her chosen graveyard.

He trailed behind as she turned past a large pillar with “Skylawn” carved into the stone. Skylawn, he thought, what the—

“Skylawn.” she said flatly. “What's that about anyway? It doesn't even make any sense. How can a lawn be in the sky? Or be like the sky? I guess it's because they're supposed to be in the sky, the dead people. Ha! If they knew....”

“I reckon it's on account of they have more cemeteries than names in this town, love. Can only have so many variations on Happy Acres without getting into pet cemetery territory, eh?” He kept watching her, carefully. “Look, I'm all for lettin bygones be gone and all that, but I kinda like to know what we're letting go, you know? I mean, a couple hours is right quick even for me...”

She just kept on going, not even slowing down to look at a new grave on the left or looking around, just plodding along, shoulders slightly slumped. Suddenly she stumbled— “Ugh! Ew what is it??! You must be joking!! There's some kind of rotten mini slime demon on my shoe? Oh boy is it gonna be sorry!” she cried, kicking at a dark gelatinous looking mass that had wrapped itself around her foot and ankle while whipping out a stake, but slowing down when it didn't appear to be reacting. “ugh- ew- WHAT IS IT??”

Spike pulled the mass off her boot, straightening up with it in his hands. It was a clump of leathery strands knotted and tangled into a loosely held together fishy smelling ball. “Seaweed,” he said- “good and dead. You won't be needing that stake after all.”

“What- but it grabbed me! It was all, with the... it seemed like it grabbed me,” she trailed off. “Huh. But still! Seaweed in the cemetery, where we're, like, a mile from the ocean—that's weird, right? Abnormal?”

“It's a damn seaside town, luv, I really don't think it's all that peculiar! Look, what were you on about earlier? That 'I know' all about? Cause I can tell you right now, I really do not have a bleedin clue what it is you're talking about! Can't we just—hey! Look, just stop walking away and tell me, and we'll have a good laugh and go kill something and forget all about it right?”

“Sure,” she said, “but just the killing something part—” and took off at an easy lope towards a shadow across the lawn, behind some large plinths. Even with his enhanced vision he couldn't clearly see what it was, but it did look like it could, possibly, be a large figure bent over a smaller, slumped and motionless one. “Dusting time!” he muttered and trotted after her.

By the time he caught up to her, she had caught up to them, and they had, apparently, turned into something else entirely, namely a single large, hunched demon with pasty, translucent blue-ish gray skin. It appeared to be cowering as the Slayer pummeled it with kicks and jabs; it turned this way and that trying to minimize the effects of the attack but didn't fight back.

“Come on!” she was saying, “do something! What are you, useless? Good for nothing, can't even do your job right? You're a demon! Don't you know who I am? Let's go!”

Some kind of clear liquid was squirting out of it where her blows landed and running down the figure's sides, forming what was beginning to be a pretty sizable puddle around it's spatula-like feet. It made a soft gurgling noise now and again and seemed to fold further in on itself.

“Hey now,” Spike said, “I'm all for meaningless violence, me, but this bloke seems a bit—well, kind of like shooting a fish in a barrel or something don't you think? Maybe you should cut him a break?”

The Slayer turned to him, red cheeked and tight lipped. “Yeah, just let it run off and kill someone you mean? Sure, why not? I mean, who am I to tell him he shouldn't, what kind of example do I set, hanging out with William the fucking Bloody! And it's nothing like shooting fish, why the hell would I try to SHOOT a fish— it's like kicking a jellyfish is what it is!”

He stared at her; he felt hurt (inexplicably, considering that he didn't really know what she was so worked up about) but chose instead to focus on the feelings of confusion. She was at least partially making sense—now that she mentioned it, it was clearly salt water pooling around this thing, and it did have a certain undersea quality to it. The jellyfish in question, meanwhile, had slumped to the ground with its extremities so tucked into its torso that it had the appearance of a large mound of gelatin. The blob was marked with darker, more opaque patches that seemed to be where Buffy's blows had connected, which continued to ooze brine.

“Well, I think it's been tenderized enough; maybe we should try to figure out what it's doing here?”

“WE are not going to figure out anything—what do you think we are, some detective couple, like Batman and Robin or something?”

“Batman and Robin? Detectives?!” Spike was outraged. “Have you never— we're going to watch some movies together, you and I! William Powell and Myrna Loy and—”

“We are not going to snuggle up and watch any kind of movies together Spike! I am going to kill this pile of slime, and then I'm going to go home, alone!”

Now he really did feel hurt, followed quickly by shame. She was right of course—what right did he have to think they were friends? With over a dozen decades' worth of experience, he quickly stifled the feelings of worthlessness. In their place, he found himself suddenly very angry.

“I really don't see why you have to kill this bloke!” he retorted—“I mean, look at it! You don't know anything about it! Why don't you have the old gang look him up and make sure he's a danger to something besides krill before you get all Captain Ahab on him!”

“Like you care—you kill things for fun, remember? Well, I don't—this is my job. I'm going to do it and then I'm going to do the next thing I have to and the next, and then I'm going to go home and wash this damn saltwater off my clothes! It's a demon, it's lurking around a cemetery, and I'm not going to wait for it to hurt someone—I'm going to deal with it, now!” As she finished speaking, Buffy pulled out a long knife and swept it in a smooth downward arc that severed its head cleanly. The body collapsed in a flood of water and seemed to deflate to a fraction of its size.

Spike stared at it in shock. She was right; he did kill demons for fun; but this just wasn't fun. There was no fun had anywhere in that, he thought. Not by her, not by me, and certainly not by that lump of jelly. She was off across the grass again and he almost let her go—she clearly needed some time—but he just couldn't do it. He followed, trying to figure out how to make her see the wrongness of what had just happened, how unlike her it seemed. But he couldn't quite figure it out—she would just say, I killed a demon, that's what I do, how is that in any way not like me? (With an implied “you moron” for good measure.) He might not know how to explain the difference, just as he wasn't sure what she should have done instead; but somehow he knew that before the jump, the death, the spell—Buffy would not have done that.

————————————————

Buffy heard Spike's footsteps resume behind her after a long pause—she had almost thought he would stop following her. She hadn't decided yet how she felt about that, but here he came, just as sure as sunshine in Sunnydale; so another night could pass in which she didn't have to try to figure it out.

On the trip back from LA she had been filled with determination—everything had seemed so clear! She had figured it out— she knew what had to happen, and what had to stop happening. But she'd forgotten, had been so glad to forget for a day, what it was like to be here, to live in the world again— to live in Sunnydale again! Easy to decide, no more vampire pals; harder to find herself surrounded by the cheerful, the needy, the anxious bustling talking bickering gossiping chattering mob that the living had increasingly become to her. All she wanted when they all surrounded her was to be alone, but when she got her wish, she found Spike's company more of a comfort than she liked to admit. But he was only pretending! What did they share, really? What could they ever have in common? He might seem different, he might have done things, helpful things, noble things; he might even make her feel safer, less alone, but he wasn't a person. And a person and a vampire, they were just different. Look at Angel!

If any vampire had something in common with the Slayer— with her, Buffy— it was Angel! He was a champion, and the love of her life, and he had a soul— which made him a person, practically! And yet he and she were as different as, as... well, sometimes she thought her and Cordy had more in common. At least you always knew what Cordelia was thinking. Did Angel think her and Cordy were alike? How much? Was he really glad that she, Buffy, was back? Maybe it had been easier for him—he'd said, back when, that he couldn't move on like she could. Maybe with her dead and buried he'd found that he could....

She whipped around suddenly and kicked a headstone, causing Spike, a few feet behind her, to flinch violently. She felt a flash of guilt, which only made her madder. The marker flew through the air and shattered on the lawn. Spike looked at her warily, his mouth open as if he was about to speak, but she whirled away and strode off again, only to change her mind and spin towards him again.

“No,” she said, “I get it. I'm acting crazy, you're following me trying to talk me out of it, it's what we do; but not tonight okay? I mean it. Just let me alone for a while. I'm sorry—but I need to think. I need... I need you to go away. I'm sorry, Spike. Thank you, I guess, but.... I'm sorry.”

And she left him standing there. She walked, and thought, and killed everything she could find but it didn't help. The clarity was long gone. She couldn't imagine feeling less clear; it was as if her head was stuffed with cotton, and all her attempts to think things through just made her more tired and confused. It was like Sunnydale was an alternate universe where nothing made sense— maybe she should go away. But she couldn't go away. Even going to see Angel (who couldn't even be bothered to come all the way here? When she'd been DEAD??) had obviously worried her sister and her friends and Giles... they needed her here so much they made her come back from the grave to take care of them! No that wasn't right—they wanted to take care of her—but then why did it feel like this? And around and around and on and on... The only one who didn't want to be reassured was Spike, but why not? And what did it matter, no more vampires, right? But why not? Oh, right, because it was wrong. No, because it was fake, because it wasn't real, not like her real friendships with real people who she had actual things in common with... But that didn't seem right. What did it say about her if she had more in common with Spike than with her friends?! But she didn't of course— it just seemed that way sometimes because... because... well because he was there. That was the only reason. So, no more hanging around together, no more problem.

She detoured around a large crypt and was amazed to find herself blinded by a ray of light. It was morning? Already? Oh no, she had to go home and say good morning to Dawn and sleep and get up and figure out what to do with her life... suddenly she was exhausted and more than ready for bed.

———————

Spike let Buffy go, shocked and hurt. He wasn't bloody crowding her! He was only trying to help! And what did Angel say to her anyway? Things had been going so well— maybe he was just so glad to have her back that he only thought so? But she had really seemed to accept him since her return, to finally recognize that he had changed and that he was there for her and Dawn... Sometimes he'd even fancied that she might be seeing him as, well, a person. Certainly a friend! Oh god, just look at him. He had been right in the first place, first thing today—he really had sunk beyond anything. They were right! All the lowlifes—his people!—who told him he was crazy for switching sides (usually with their fists, before he ended them)—he was crazy! What kind of life was this! He should just, just...well. No. Not leave, not kill... he wouldn't leave his Slayer now. This was just another part of her adjustment process, he would give her time. He watched daytime television, he knew about these modern folk and their lashing out and projecting and all that. She was only turning on him because she knew he wouldn't leave. He needed to be strong for her! And so he would, tomorrow. She didn't want him around tonight? Fine. He had things he could do then, and he would, by hell!


	3. Chapter 3

It was late afternoon when Spike regained consciousness. He was in his bed—good—and clothed—not bad—but his head felt huge and uncomfortable and kind of crusty—bad! Sometimes he did miss mirrors—though with technology moving on like it was—there were photos and movies and video cameras—maybe someday they'd have a camera-mirror just for vampires....Harmony would like that— not to mention Angelus.... with a start the vampire realized he'd been drifting back off. Ugh. He felt miserable. Was he hungover?! Vampires did not get hangovers. No way. Had he been fighting—yes. Definitely. He wiped some mostly dried blood off his face and smelled it absently while thinking. His; too bad. Was he hit in the head too hard or something?

He got up and stuck his head under the pipe he'd run off the water main, letting the cold water course over his hair and face until he felt clearer. After shaking himself and splattering water everywhere he used his shirt to dry off and headed upstairs for some refreshing mind clearing cold (ugh) blood.

It was too late in the day to open his door all the way—his west facing crypt really wasn't ideal—but he cracked it enough to let in a breeze and sniffed the air appreciatively while fetching his blood. Sea air—lovely stuff. With his intensified senses he had to smell all the smog and smoke as well, but compared to the smells he'd been surrounded by as a young man, that he'd been acutely aware of even with his human senses (but so much more so after the change!), it was paradise. These modern people didn't know how good they had it, no sooty coal smoke, indoor plumbing, the bloody EPA for crying out loud—it was a brave new world, to be sure. Why, he felt better already—so there you had it, vampire = no hangover. That was just a weird anomaly, and now he was ready to be helpful Spike once more.

He reached the front door of the Magic Box soon after dusk. The door had a sign on the outside informing the public that they had closed for the day; Spike pushed it open, wincing as the loud bell rang a few inches from his ear—vampire hearing! not hangover!—and headed for his usual spot on the stairs, well away from any possible attempts to rope him into flipping through all those piles of books and journals. The youngsters were gathered around the table looking unoccupied; he could hear Buffy pummeling the punching bag in the back and a murmur that was Giles' voice with her.

“Ah, hi, Spike,” said Tara. Anya and Xander just looked at him; Willow barely seemed aware he'd entered—she was staring angrily at her computer screen. Dawn was glad he was there though—she hopped up and came over looking at him closely. “What happened to your face?” she demanded. “You look awful!”

He put his hand up, trying to feel what she was seeing—he was probably a little bruised but so what? Still, didn't want to worry the Bit. “S'nothing” he muttered, “Just a little demon tussle. Nothin to worry you lot.”

She didn't seem convinced. “Yeah,” she said dubiously, “you just look....and your hair's kind of—um, different.”

He smoothed his hair self consciously—it felt normal! Just a little curly from the salt....wait. Salt? Now that he'd noticed he realized he could smell it all over him—it was like he'd been doused in salt water. But he hadn't—he'd just watched Buffy kill that poor sod, he'd barely been splashed. So how had this happened?

“......Spike? Spike!” he came back to his senses. Dawn was standing in front of him, arms crossed, looking annoyed. “What was that about, it's like you didn't even hear me! Well??”

“Uh, sorry there luv—there was a question?”

“I said, what happened to you?”

“Nothing, nothing happened. Say, you lot finding anything out about that jellyfish thing from last night? Why, what, all that?”

The group at the table (minus Willow, still) just looked at him. He was starting to really get bugged by the sight of all those eyes on him...

“Wow Spike,” Xander finally said, “you're even more sensical than usual! Did you take some good drugs or something? Cause jellyfish—not really a big threat around here!”

“I don't think sensical is a word, honey—and jellyfish could be very scary in the right circumstance! Though out of water, not so much... kind of floppy I imagine....” Anya trailed off.

Tara was looking at him more intently than any of them, but somehow he didn't mind as much. “Maybe you could explain a little more Spike? Did you run into something we should know about?”

“Did I—no, Buffy did! A great big blobby thing, like a pinata only full of saltwater instead of candy! She didn't mention it? Then what are you doing here? What are you looking up?”

“Well, ah...” Tara looked ill at ease. “Nothing really. Just, ah, different dimensions, and their, uh, properties...”

“Look Spike, if Buffy didn't think this demon was a problem, it probably isn't. Did it get away or something? Did it do that to you?” Xander demanded.

“Well no, she killed it and all...and I didn't—no it didn't do anything to me! But it was bloody weird it was, it didn't fight back, and it was miles from the sea, and it was... it just seemed a bit off is all...”

“Well,” Anya said cheerfully, “it's dead now and if it didn't even fight back it can't be too much of a problem, can it? I mean, non-fighting demons—not a problem right?”

“Yeeess...” Spike conceded. It was the same thing all over again—something was definitely wrong here, but there was just no way of explaining it!

As he tried to figure out how to go on, Buffy and Giles emerged from the back. Buffy looked startled to see him for some reason. Had she meant to leave her alone for longer? How long? But no, “What happened to you?” she asked, actually sounding somewhat concerned.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?! It's like you lot have never seen a bloke after a scuffle before and I KNOW that's not it! I'm a vampire! I'll be fine, it's just a couple of bruises!”

“Ooh-kay then.” Buffy replied. “Just thought it seemed different.... or something....” She was still looking at him, puzzled but sort of vague, like she was trying to suss out what was up and looking right through him at the same time. It almost gave him the creeps—almost. Mostly he felt a bit concerned, and more than a little self-conscious.

“So, shall we then?” asked Giles, and the humans all moved to gather around the table. “Buffy, anything unusual to report? Willow, are you with us?”

Willow raised her eyes from the computer and looked around at them all. “Oh! Sorry, yes. I mean, what?”

“Don't worry Will, you haven't missed anything yet. Unless you consider Spike's big jellyfish revelation news...” Xander sniped.

“Jellyfish? There's jellyfish? Spike got beat up by a fish?” Buffy was confused; Willow looked confused but was also looking at Buffy rather more closely than seemed called for, between glances at her laptop.

“He said you did!” said Dawn. “Or, that you beat one up, I mean.”

“Oh that—and hello, really not the same! Anyway who cares? It came, I slayed it, it melted, the end.”

“There was a, is this right, jellyfish? And you...slayed it?” Giles asked.

“There was an oceany demon, it's gone, let's move on. What are you all looking up out here?” Buffy asked, sounding a bit steelier than usual.

Spike thought her resolve was a bit nice to hear, himself, even if she was just trying to change the subject, but the gang didn't look as pleased. They mostly looked uncomfortable, except Anya, who, unlike him, had probably managed to finally get over feeling awkward at some point around her hundredth birthday. He faked it well, but if she was faking she was Sarah Bernhardt bloody reincarnated, and even then; well, no one was that good an actress. Although, he noticed, even she was unusually silent. But perhaps she was just distracted by whatever she seemed to be trying to telepathically communicate to Xander, who was oblivious.

Giles was looking at the spines of the books collected on the tabletop. “Ah, well, perhaps we should take advantage of this apparent lull in demonic activity,” he said. “Buffy, you and Spike can patrol, and we'll just wrap up here and make it an early night, yes?”

Buffy looked as surprised as he, Spike, felt. Come to think of it, everyone did. Well, except Anya, who was gathering her things with a satisfied air, and Dawn, who was looking hopefully at Buffy. And...well, maybe it was just him and Buffy. No, Willow was startled too, but also—angry? She was looking defiantly at Giles; Tara was, predictably, facing towards Willow, concerned. Spike was going to snap necks if he had to be around all these glares and weird currents for another minute; he threw himself to his feet and strode out the door.

—————————

 

Buffy couldn't help but feel that Giles was calling off the usual demon roll-call on her account, but she didn't know why, or particularly want to think about it. She thought she was doing pretty well at acting like things were okay, but maybe not. But she just couldn't imagine trying to do more. He wanted her to patrol? Fine. She'd rather go anyway. Let them all do whatever it was that they were doing here without her. Off she'd go. She didn't know if she could stand all the meaningful glances and signals anymore anyway; she had no idea what it was all about and even thinking about trying to untangle it all and have heart to hearts with everyone made her feel tired all over again. She had a nice buzz of momentum going from hitting things in the back room—better to try to keep it going. So, off she went. Avoiding Dawn's hurt look, she got up and headed out. Behind her, Xander put his arm around Dawn and distracted her with a joke. Good old Xander.

Outside she looked around crankily until she saw Spike smoking under a nearby awning. There he was! “What, you couldn't wait a few minutes for me?” she snapped. “You're only immortal, what's the rush?”

He just stared back at her.

“Fine,” she sighed, “whatever. Let's go, then.” and took off without looking behind her. She heard him start to follow after an almost imperceptible pause. With any luck, now he was pissed off at her too and that would make it an even everyone she knew. Maybe if she pissed them off enough, they wouldn't want to be around her. That would make things easier right? She sighed, again.

“Spike,” she started. Then stopped walking and turned towards him. Then changed her mind and started walking again. “Spike...”

“What is it then?”

“Why do you act like... do you really think it makes sense, you hanging around us? Doesn't it bother you? I mean, don't you want to be around other—people—um, beings? Who you have something in common with?”

He didn't answer right away. When she looked over at him, he looked kind of...hurt? But in a flash he was cocky and sure as ever, and giving her that knowing look like he could see right into her. She immediately felt irritable all over again.

“What, you want me to go away again then? So you can take care of all the beasties alone, and the Bit, and spend some quality time with your mates?”

“No I just...” she avoided thinking about how much she didn't want to do any of those things. “I mean, why are you here? You know I'm never going to be with you! And you'll never be human, and we always will and so we'll never really understand each other—it's like we speak different languages or something! And you think you're communicating but really we have no idea what each other are saying...”

He seemed taken aback. “What the hell are you talking about? I always know what you're— we understand each other just great—um, that is, usually...” he trailed off, a bit confused.

“Never mind.” Her voice was dull again already. “Let's just do our job and...” she looked ahead.

“It's not my job, you know, pet. I do it cause I choose to.” When she didn't respond he let it go. “So what do you figure was up back at the shop tonight? Lotta cloak and dagger and whatnot don't you think?”

She stared blankly at him.

“Oh come on! You had to have noticed something was amiss! And when doesn't Giles want to discuss demons? A damn sign of the apocalypse right there I'd say!”

“What? No, yeah, for sure—cloak?”

“Huh?”

“They just don't want to worry me, probably, I'm sure there's nothing going on.” she said, wishing she believed it. “So what did you do last night?” Time to change the subject.

He looked disbelievingly at her, then seemed a little embarrassed. As he turned away to fumble out a cigarette and his lighter he mumbled something indistinct.

“Huh?” she asked.

“Doesn't matter.” he said. “Just a bit of drinking. Hanging about with my own kind, you know, just what you wanted. Probably nothing to stand out or anything...”

“Probably?” she probed, feeling a flicker of actual curiosity.

“Well, I don't strictly remember, but I can't imagine it was any different than usual. Some drinks, likely brawling, probably killed something evil...”

“Do you not remember much? What's that about anyway? I've been drunk before and I always remember everything....unfortunately,” she added in an undertone.

“You've been drunk before? Couple girly drinks at a college party I imagine? Should come out with me sometime, Slayer, could show you a proper binge! Anyway, Slayer constitution, s'like mine probably—don't get all sleepy and blacked out like the civilians, you know? Just keep on going...”

“So why can't you remember last night then?”

“I, uh...” he seemed non-plussed. “Huh.”

“Do you think something wonky happened?” she asked. “Could it be a spell?”

“No way! I'd know if someone put a spell on me, be able to feel it!”

“Well what then? Anyway, how would it feel it if you didn't remember it? So you don't feel different?”

He was silent, brow furrowed as he smoked more aggressively.

“What do you remember? Where did you wake up?”

“I went to Willie's, got a couple drinks... I, hmmm. Nothing weird! I even remember leaving, I went out to the alley for a breather—”

“You don't breathe.”

“Doesn't mean I don't enjoy a spot of fresh air! Quit interrupting. I'm trying here, aren't I? So I went out to the alley.... And it was nice and fresh out, and I thought, why should I hang around this nasty place, I'mna have a nice walkaround before sunup, and... I.... woke up.”

“Where?”

“In my bed, that's where! When did you turn into the bitty, blond Torquemada anyway?”

“You sleep in a bed?”

“What did you think, I had a coffin and a casket of earth like old Dracula? Hah! No thanks...”

“Well did you feel different or notice anything? What did you do when you woke up?”

“I felt bloody rotten is what! I washed off the...saltwater....huh.” They looked at each other.

“I knew it!” he practically yelled, making her jump a little. “I knew there was something fishy—ah—something going on! That bleeding superior little twat is gonna be sorry when he gets dragged down into Davy Jones' locker, him and all the rest of them! I said they should hit the books, but no...”

“What the hell are you talking about, Spike? Who's going to get dragged where? Did you remember something else or are you just having a little private freak-out here?”

“It doesn't matter,” he replied a bit churlishly. “So now do you believe something is going on with your 'jellyfish'?”

“Yeah, I guess it could be connected....” she was trying to imagine how this all made sense. The excitement of figuring something out was fast fading into the realization that they didn't know anything and it was going to be her job to make it all coherent, and then kill whatever needed to be killed. And, sure enough! Here came the overwhelming desire to do anything but this, again. Her first choice was still curl up in bed and see how long she could sleep for, but she was flexible—that drinking binge was even sounding all right. Except for the whole evil fish demons taking advantage and killing her part. And didn't that sound familiar? Although...

“Why didn't they kill you?” she wondered. “Why erase your memory?”

“Well if I knew that...Look pet, can you tell me something?” He sounded sort of hesitant. She looked at him, eyebrow raised, waiting.

“Do I...that is... I don't remember what happened, exactly—”

“Yeah, we covered that.”

“Yeah, only—well, what did it do to me? I just figured it was the usual nicks and bruises, but you lot keep looking at me funny and all...”

She was confused at first. “You don't know?”

“Well, just feels a little off, but you know...”

“You can't see yourself!” She was amazed it had taken her so long. “You can't look in the mirror!”

“Yeah, can't see pretty much covered that.” He sounded a bit sour.

“Wow, I mean I knew you didn't have a reflection, I just never really...huh. How do you fix your hair? And how do you know if your shirt matches your pants okay—well I guess you just wear a lot of black...”

“I can see my bloody clothes! I'm not blind, I just can't see my own face! Can you just answer the question?!”

“Oh, right. You don't have to get huffy! Um, well, your face is kind of all swollen up and puffy on one side is all. And, you know, bruised,” she said, grabbing his chin and moving his head side to side.

“Swollen? You mean I've been going around looking like... all swollen?”

She almost smiled at the look on his face, which was pretty puffy. It also had a large bruise down the side of it and the, as he'd put it, 'usual nicks and bruises', but somehow, he still looked as handsome as ever underneath it all. Damn him, she thought; if I was all puffy I would definitely not look that hot. Followed immediately by; Oh god, I did not just think that Spike looked hot. She snapped her hand away and headed back the way they'd come.

“Don't be such a princess,” she said. “I think we need to go talk to Giles about all this. He'll know what to do.”

She ignored Spike's protests about being seen looking like a “moon-faced pratt”, pointing out that everyone had already seen him, and set back off towards the Magic Box.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Later I'm going to post much more slowly, but I'm on a writing spree this week and since I'm way ahead of myself...what the heck. Buffy is still depressed and bitchy, but she has her reasons...so hang in there, kittens, the best is yet to come. That said, I hope you like this all right...

Buffy burst through the door to the magic shop expecting to find no one left but Giles, possibly Willow. Instead, the whole group was still there. Dawn was huddled in a corner with her head in a book but looking like she was mostly pretending to read, and Anya was doing something behind the counter, but the rest of them were standing tensely around the table. Giles and Willow were glaring at each other and Xander and Tara just seemed worried. At her dramatic entrance they all jumped.

“Oh good you're still here—I mean, um—hey?” She lost a little steam as the tension in the room sunk in. “But maybe this is a bad time after all, we can just....”

Spike walked in, took a look and turned around, heading back out the door. She reached behind her and caught hold of his coat, dragging him back around to her side.

Giles started in their direction, causing Willow to look even more furious. “What is it?” he asked, “did something happen?”

“Yes! Or not just now, but to Spike, last night! I think it's connected—we need to figure out how!” Buffy declared.

“We already know something happened to Spike last night,” Dawn said; “We can see him!”

“Yes, but we figured out he was all salty! And there was a spell, maybe!”

“I see,” Giles said dryly. “Perhaps you'd better come in and explain this from the beginning for us?”

\--------------------------

Willow wasn't happy. They had convened at the Magic Box, her and the group who had performed the spell—she found herself thinking of them as her coven, but they really weren't, at all, more like back-up—to continue to try to find out where Buffy had been. They had succeeded, amazingly well, she'd known she could do it, but Buffy seemed—well, not quite herself. So she wanted to finish what she'd started and make whatever it was that was just that little bit off all better too. She could probably just cobble together something that would do the trick, but Tara felt they needed to know where Buffy had been first, so they would research and find out. She still thought they could just ask, but no, everyone thought that was a bad idea.

Anyway, so it was slow and tedious and how the heck were they supposed to even know if they were getting it right without asking anyway?, but she did the research anyway. And got what? Giles trying to stop them, again! Haven't you done enough, leave well enough alone, blah blah blah I just dropped back into town to be the boss again. Well no, they clearly hadn't done enough! And things were not well enough! They could, and would, be better! If only everyone would leave her alone and just let her work! But not just yet, because they weren't done talking about it, much as HE clearly thought they were!

She twitched irritably and tried to squish her pillow into a better position, causing Tara to stir and mumble something questioning. Great, she couldn't even think in bed properly without someone having something to say about it! She immediately felt ashamed and leaned over to smooth her beloved's hair and kiss her. They might not agree about everything but she would do anything Tara wanted her to. They would work it out—Tara would understand, she simply didn't realize how much Willow had learned.

She just wasn't sleepy—she would get up so as not to disturb her girl, and look into this mystery saltwater spell caster. And maybe a few spells to help Buffy.

\------------------------

Tired as she was, Buffy couldn't sleep either. Even aside from the dreams, she'd always kept late hours, at least since being called—but after the debriefing at the Magic Box, she'd returned to her house with the others for some reason and here she was. She sat on her bed indecisively. Get dressed again and patrol? Lie down in bed and stare at the ceiling and think? Go downstairs and risk running into one of the others, having to talk to them? She realized that a lot of time was passing in which she was just sitting and staring. Feeling vaguely guilty she stood up and opened her window to the warm night air. She stuck her head out, then her whole torso, then just went ahead and climbed out onto the roof ledge in her short cotton robe and bare feet.

After a moment of almost contented blankness, just letting the breeze blow her hair around her cheeks and not thinking about anything else, she sighed and spoke quietly, almost whispering. “Hey, Spike. Just come up here, then.”

He dropped his cigarette and made his way up the tree and to the roof in what seemed like a single silent, sinuous bound. Sitting beside her he raised a brow and waited. She ignored him, but he just looked at her until she gave in and spoke.

“You ran out on research-a-palooza early.”

“Yeah, well, I had a skip around to see what I could see. I miss much, then?”

“No.”

They sat in silence, until he started to speak just as she turned towards him and took a breath. He fell silent. She looked down and spoke quietly.

“I know I acted crazy, before. No, shut up, I'm serious—I want to—I know you don't understand. I don't want to...be mean to you. I just—I did some thinking, on the way back from LA...about things...” She trailed off.

“You're wrong, you know,” he said. “I do understand. You're wrong about what you're thinking too, but that's another story... I get it. You saw old tall and selfish and you got to thinking you know all about vamps, we're all the same, so forth and so on. You know it isn't that simple, love! Him, he's always been a bastard, he did a number on you as sure as if he'd been evil, so now you don't trust anyone. Well it's bloody stupid! You know you can trust me! I've proved it, time and again!”

“Shhh!” she hissed, looking around at the other bedroom windows. “It's just not that simple, Spike.”

He waited for her to go on, but it seemed she was done.

“Like hell it isn't!” he finally responded. “You want to believe we don't have anything in common, you and me—yeah, I got that yesterday. But that's where you're wrong! You and me, we got more in common than you and any of those ones in there! You want to be one of them so badly, you think you can't because you're missing something, but it isn't what it is at all! You'll never be like them, because of what you have that they don't, and never will!”

“What, being the Slayer? Tell me something I don't know, Spike! I'm different, I always will be, why even bother trying...not really news. Thanks for reminding me though, always a treat.”

“No! You're not different—you're just like them, but you're the Slayer too! You're bloody unique—but you're trying to be ordinary! Why not just let yourself be who you are? You're a regular girl, and you're part of a secret, magical world, you're the bloody queen of it, and you wish you could go back to your ordinary boring life? Seriously?!”

“I don't want to live in that world!” she shot back, finally roused to show some emotion. “And do what, hang out at Willy's with demons who, oh yeah, eat babies the rest of the time? Sit around with you in your crypt, which is, hello, a crypt! In a cemetery! With dead bodies in it! No thanks Spike—I have a little sister to raise and friends to...to take care of, and, and responsibilities....” she turned her face away.

“Well you don't have to be a stinkin bitch about it! It's not like that and you know it—we patrol together, and we...we get on...um...hey, Slayer...Buffy...are you crying?”

She shook her head, still turned away, and wiped her hands across her eyes.

“Hey, I didn't mean it, about you being a bitch...I know you got a lot to take on...” he floundered. He reached out tentatively and splayed his large hand over her spine, moving it up and down a little, soothingly. She sniffled and laughed a little.

“Look at me huh? Great job I'm doing being normal. Hiding out here so I don't have to see anyone, and you're the only one I can talk to. I'm just a big old screw up, me. Shoulda left me dead and remembered me as the girl who did everything right!” She didn't acknowledge the hand steadily rubbing her back, but she didn't pull away either.

“You're too hard on yourself, love. You're the best there is! I couldn't beat you, and I'm good—you know it's true.”

“Best? I'm the worst Slayer of all time!” She shook his hand off her back and flung her hand out, almost hitting him. “I'm supposed to kill vampires, not have heart to hearts with them! How can I possibly be a worse Slayer?! Should we have a slumber party, and you can braid my hair, and oh! I know! Maybe we can do some black magic! That'd be worse!”

“You kill vampires all the time! And everything else you need to, and you save the world; but look what else you've done! Look at me, I'm playing for the fucking home team, fighting the good fight! Me, William the Bloody, baddest of the bad, scourge of Europe, terror of the Americas, Slayer of Slayers...”

“Is this going somewhere? And, hello, I thought Angelus was the scourge of Europe.”

“Well he had some bloody help didn't he! Anyway, damn right it's going somewhere. Those soldier boys put this chip in my head, but you changed me, Buffy. I did it for you, you know I did, and that's a bleedin' miracle! You think any of those girls before you could've done something like that? Not likely!”

“I didn't do anything! And you're still...you're...”

“I'm what, Buffy?” he asked softly. “Look at me and tell me what I am, because damned if I know. Yeah, I'm a killer, and you know it. But I'm changed. I don't know what it all means, but I know it's real. And you've changed, too, and you don't fit in with them—let it go. You think we have nothing in common? We're the only ones who do! Stop trying to be someone you aren't anymore, and let yourself be happy, pet.” He was looking intently at her.

She looked back, silently. He couldn't tell what she was thinking; for a minute he thought his pleas were working; then her eyes filled with tears again. She began crying brokenly, trying to stifle the sobs as she grasped his arms and drove her head into his chest. He murmured soothingly but she was beyond hearing him. She just sobbed on clutching his upper arms painfully, then releasing her grip to pound on him.

“Hey, hey, no, don't...what's that love? I can't hear you?”

“I'm such a fucking fuck up!” she whisper-wailed. “I can't do anything Spike, I don't know what to do, I don't know how to do it all, I can't even not do things. I can't do anything, it should be easy to not do something, to just stay away from you, easier than anything, I can't even do that, I'm just useless...”

He started to respond, moved to grab ahold of her, but the pounding on his arms intensified and became wilder, and he had to raise his arms to block her as she began to punch wildly.

“I can't do this, I can't do any of this, I don't want, no, stop, get away from me--” her voice rose and she looked up at him, finally. “No. Get the hell away from me, don't touch me, this isn't good or right or okay, just, just stop!”, and she aimed one final solid punch straight at his face. As he went soaring off the roof, he saw her disappear through the window and, from the ground, heard it bang closed.

\---------------------------------

Buffy sat on the floor inside her window, shaking. What was she going to do? What was wrong with her? Had something inside her broken, shattered irreparably in the grave? She had never wanted to be the Slayer, to take on so much, but ever since the first time she really questioned her strength, her ability to do it, she had known she could. She'd felt this way then, when she was faced with death at the hands of the Master, but she had searched and realized that she could handle whatever she needed to, even death. And so she had. But now...that was lost. Well, no, if it were only death—that she could handle. But all this...her life. It was too much.


	5. Chapter 5

Xander could hear them discussing their project from the kitchen of he and Anya's apartment. The words were indistinct but the rise and fall of voices seemed friendly enough; apparently the group had not yet reached the inevitable bickering stage of the evening. He got everyone's beverages—beers for him and Willow, a light beer for his girlfriend, tea for Tara—and headed back out to make some space on the paper and book covered coffee table for his offerings. It had never occurred to him that these secret meetings might continue if they actually successfully completed their objective—truly, it had never occurred to him that they might be successful—but here they were, still meeting. Strangely, instead of feeling more confident in what they were doing after the amazing feat they had performed, he felt more wigged than ever. And it didn't seem to be only him; they were all on edge these days, and the meetings had become tense and almost unfriendly, as if lines were drawn, him and Anya on one side, Willow and Tara on the other—though maybe that was wrong. Though she didn't share Xander's mistrust of magic, increasingly it was Tara who seemed to feel as he did, to be pulling back from the whole idea of continuing.

“What about this?” Willow asked, thrusting an extremely tattered book in front of him.

“Huh?” he replied articulately. “What am I looking at?”

“This, here,” she said impatiently, jiggling the book and trying to point with one of the hands holding it up, “this description. Does it match what you saw happen during the part of the spell when I was tested?”

“Uh, I...maybe? I really, there was a lot going on! It was scary! I'm sorry I don't really remember the exact pattern of the creepy shapes under your skin, or, you know, what kind of snake you threw up!”

“This is the only clue we have! The books all say the only ways we can know what dimension we were accessing are to use the magical items that were used in the spell, or by the exact nature of the tests, and the urn is totally dust, so you guys have to figure out what you saw! I wasn't really there and I couldn't see me anyway!”

“I know, I know, but I'm just not sure! Let me sit and look at it for a minute...” he took the book over to his chair while the rest of the group kept on with the shuffling pages and trying to find more descriptions.

“Too bad we didn't film the spell,” Anya said. “If we'd set up a video camera, on a tripod or something, we could just watch the tape—plus we should have anyway, just for posterity. That was a big deal! We have a camera and tripod and everything, I wish we'd thought of it...I guess it just would've been smashed by those demons anyway though, and then we'd have had to buy a new one....”

Xander looked at his girlfriend, bemused. He was so used to her that her ideas kind of made sense to him, but he did wonder about what his friends thought sometimes. But to his surprise Willow was gazing at Anya thoughtfully.

“What's that look for, Will? We didn't tape it, so what are you thinking, you wanna go back in time and set up a secret camera or something?” he joked.

But she was serious, and a little excited.

“No, but what if we could just see what happened? What if there was a way to just look and see the tests?”

“Well, I guess that would be good, but there isn't right?” he answered warily.

Willow stood up.

“No, probably not,” she said vaguely. “Let's wrap up for the night—it's late and Tara and I have school tomorrow. I'll look at some more stuff at home and we can get back together soon, yeah?”

Tara seemed surprised but willing. She carefully marked her place in the book she had been studying and began tidying away the research materials. Anya tossed down the notebook she'd been making notes in and flopped back into the couch willingly.

“I can't remember any more dimensions anyway,” she said. “Trying to think of every conversation I ever had with someone from another world in a thousand years is impossible! If I were still a demon I'd get a lesser demon to go look all this up for me. I didn't have a lot of pull, but I could have the minions do a little work here and there...especially if I said it was research for a vengeance job...I miss having minions to do things for me,” she concluded, sipping her drink and looking dreamy.

“Mm-hmm,” Xander said, gathering the dishes to take into the kitchen while kicking her shoes towards the bedroom. “I'm sure you do.”

\------------------------------

Buffy had been through three cemeteries without seeing anything of interest before Spike materialized. One minute she was walking alone, the next the vampire was keeping pace with her as if he'd been there all along. Belatedly, her vamp sense went nuts.

“Nice,” she muttered, “if you were out to get me, that's be real handy.”

“If I were out to get you, you'd have clocked me coming probably,” he said soothingly.

“I'd definitely clock you if you were out to get me!” she snapped. “But what are you talking about? You just—you surprised me is all.”

“Yeah; but I'm sure you woulda known I was here if you needed to. That's all. Anyway, I just came up, I wasn't following you. I was looking about for more of the fishy folk, and saw you across the park. Came over.”

“And? Any creatures from the blue lagoon?”

“Nothing. Was thinking of heading towards the beach though, you know?”

“But the one was in the graveyard, and the ones that got you were in an alley...”

“Well, but why? Stands to reason they'd be living by the water, no?”

“Or, like, in it?” she offered.

“Yeah.”

As he walked behind her he wondered if her feet ever got sore, marching back and forth across town night after night in those damned impractical shoes. Maybe the Slayer package extended to sturdy arches—but those shoes couldn't be very sturdy. Did she go through a lot of them? No wonder she was so worried about money. Maybe he should nick her a pair of nice well made boots like his own for her birthday—she wouldn't probably like it though. He was entranced by a vision of the Slayer trading in her little heels for a pair of combat boots, particularly since the picture in his mind didn't extend to any other clothing.

Meanwhile, she trudged ahead, looking tired. He wished he could give her a foot massage, that she'd let him. He thought of holding her delicate toes, rubbing the arches with his thumbs, while she lay trustingly across his bed. Her hair spilling over the pillows, her eyes closed, as she relaxed, enjoying his touch...moaning softly....

She continued to trudge along, oblivious to Spike's train of thought. He tried to shut his mind down. She was unhappy, vulnerable! It was wrong to be thinking these things—just last night she'd trusted him enough to sob in his arms, practically.... He remembered the feeling of her head against his chest, her hands gripping his biceps.

“Yeah and her fists pounding your face! Snap the fuck out of it mate!” he lectured himself. But more effective than his logic was the feeling of shame. She was suffering—that he could have such thoughts only proved how right she was, that he was less than her, worthless. If he truly loved her he'd find a way to make things right, for her, not think about himself like this. She didn't want him like that. He would be what she needed!

“So, you feel anything, last night after I left?”

She looked up sharply, cheeks going a little pink.

“What? No! What do you mean?”

“Earthquake! Just a little one; was just wondering. I think I feel ones you humans miss sometimes, with the vamp senses and all...” he trailed off. She looked horrified.

“There was an earthquake? Last night? Are you sure? Cause that's never good! This is bad! It's these fish, sea, whatevers!”

“There's earthquakes all the time love! I feel em every few weeks out here, and nothing bad happens...or, well, nothing extra...” His attempt to make light conversation wasn't going very well. “I was probably mistaken! You've got super senses too, you'd probably have noticed...say, look, here's the beach! What now?”

Buffy still looked like she might like to turn around and go running to Giles, but she didn't. She just strode out onto the beach. Spike's vamp vision afforded him the spectacle of her impractical heels sinking into the sand, but he noted that her ankles remained straight as pokers. Apparently something about it—possibly the grains running into her pumps—bothered her, though, because she stopped after a few steps to take the shoes off. Side by side, she and Spike wandered down the beach.

The lights from the road made the darkness over the water seem darker, thicker, and it was difficult to see what lay that way. Buffy seemed content to keep Spike on the water side of her. For his part, he could see okay, but there didn't seem to be much to look at. Just sand, water, and lifeguard towers and trash cans at regular intervals.

“Have you ever had a job?” Buffy piped up.

Spike was torn from his contemplation of the water by the ridiculousness of this question.

“Vampire here, doll! Why would I have a job?!”

“Yeah, but you weren't always. When you were alive you must have had to, you know...do something?”

She tried to look at him but he seemed to be avoiding meeting her eyes, and didn't look at her even when he spoke.

“I didn't really...it was a different time. Not like now.”

“Well, yeah, but people had jobs still; like, there were blacksmiths, and tailors...”

He laughed loudly and looked around at her finally.

“Blacksmiths! Not so much in my day—now Darla, she might remember that....No, love, it wasn't that different, but no, I didn't have a job, all right then?”

“But you were older than me—you were what, 29 or something? Shouldn't you have—”

“Oi! 29! Do I look almost 30 to you? I was not!”

“What? You're like a hundred some odd years old and you're afraid someone will mistake you for 30? You are the weirdest hundred year old ever...”

He opened his mouth to ask if she'd known many hundred year olds but thought better of it at the last minute. He silently congratulated himself for thinking before the words came out rather than the moment after, as was more his habit. Maybe this business of getting old wasn't so bad after all—cause look, here was Buffy, still cheerful, carrying her shoes and walking on the beach under the stars beside him like they did this every night. And she seemed to have been distracted from the topic of his work history too, which was good. He didn't exactly need to hide his history, but on the other hand...there was just no need to go into it. That way opened the door to far too many memories and awkward questions.

“So you've resigned yourself to the need for an income, then?” he asked. “Maybe you could do some kind of work that would play to your skills...some kind of security guard or cop or something?” She looked surprisingly annoyed at that so he rushed ahead. “Um, yeah, I don't much care for the coppers myself—maybe a karate instructor? Butcher?”

“Eeew!” she said. “No way. I don't know though. I don't know how to do anything but be the Slayer! I wish I could just get paid to shop or something...how am I gonna have time to have a job anyway? I have to take care of Dawn, slay, maybe sleep sometimes... I really wish I could just get paid to do something I already do, you know?”

“Like slay, you mean? Does seem like you ought to. One girl in all the world, not like they'd have to scrape too much to manage that salary.”

“I know. I mean, Giles has been helping out, but it does seem like if he gets paid for, for helping me, that... well, I should get something from the council. Why didn't I demand that last year?! So stupid of me. Stupid Buffy....”

She was looking down and her shoulders were slumping forward again. He frowned, wondering what to do now.

“Well, maybe it isn't too late? I mean, they still need you, right, even if Glory's gone, there's still a hellmouth—could go pretend like I was gonna bite 'em for you? It's in England and all, but I could probably get there and back in 2, 3 months via boat? How about it love?”

She smiled at him.

“They know you're chipped, it wouldn't work anyway. But thanks. I'll just have to threaten em myself.”

“You mean it? You're gonna try it?”

“Don't know why not. Much as I loathe the idea of speaking to Travers, or any of them, ever again, it still beats looking for a job. Guess how much experience I have to put on a resume? Oh, that's right; none!”

She felt buoyed by having a plan. It was so simple—she should have thought of it in the first place. She couldn't be the first Slayer to ever need money to live, surely—it was weird that Giles hadn't suggested it! But he hadn't, and it was Spike that helped her figure it out. Good old Spike! He wasn't so bad really; he was harmless, like a puppy, or, or, like Xander! She smiled, thinking how enraged Xander would be to be compared to Spike, and looked at the vampire.

He really wasn't anything like Xander, though, was he? Even in the dark, as relaxed as he seemed, she could sense the tension in his body, the watchfulness. She felt awkward walking in the sand, a little off, even with her bare feet giving her purchase, but he seemed to glide above it fluidly, without ever looking down. But 'glide' wasn't right; that sounded so...girly; and that was wrong. He was...hunting, she realized. Not just now, all the time—when he stood outside her house so still she could barely even sense him there sometimes—when they patrolled, like now—and even when he seemed to be at rest, somehow.

So...not harmless...but still. Safe. How could she feel so safe with one of the most notorious vamps of the past century?, Buffy wondered. It's just because I'm the Slayer, she answered herself. Because I know he can't beat me. That's all. But for whatever reason there was something about the familiar feel of him walking next to her that soothed her. The constant, muted hum of her vamp sense meaning she never had to look to see if he was still there, and the strength that seemed to emanate from him, even when he was restless, jangly, as he so often was. Not so much these days though, was he? He seemed... steadier. Had he changed over the summer, while she was...gone? Could he change? Why did he stay, why did he take care of Dawn?

He stopped suddenly, jolting her to attention. Put a finger to his lips and then pointed towards the water. She squinted into the darkness helplessly, unable to see. Then she saw them—figures, near the waves, many, some of them in the water. They seemed to be having some kind of meeting, or getting ready to do something, but she couldn't hear voices of any kind. Without looking at each other, she and Spike began to creep slowly closer, until they were close enough for her to make out individual shapes. They weren't all the same; they weren't even all the same size. Some were vaguely human shaped, but there was no question that all were other than human, and many were very inhuman indeed. And still they couldn't hear anything but the sound of the waves and the city sounds, which seemed very far away from out here. Suddenly, all the figures snapped to attention as one, and swiveled to face exactly where Slayer and vampire stood. Buffy gasped and snapped a small ax into her hand, but as quickly as they'd turned, the group of demons faded away, slipping into the water with muted splashes and disappearing as if they'd never been there.

The pair rushed to where the demons had been, but nothing was left behind. They searched the beach for twenty minutes more, but the churned sand was the only sign anyone had been there.

\-------------------------------------------

It was past three in the morning and Revello drive was quiet, sleeping, expect for the voices of the pair walking down the middle of the street. He was talking animatedly, though slightly hushed and she was listening avidly, while waving her hand at him to further shush him.

“.....and then what did you do?”

“Do? I bloody well killed him, what do you think? That bastard had been cheating at cards and ruined my best pair of jeans besides! Do you know how hard it is to get Ubansu slime out of denim?”

“But how did you—shh we're almost to my house!—how did you kill him if he was all protected and stuff?”

“I unprotected him didn't I? Got Dru to pinch his talisman, and wham! In under the spines!”

Buffy giggled.

“Okay, I'm going to bed. I'll tell Giles about our close encounter tomorrow, then we can try again. Yeah?”

“Okay love. G'night then.” Spike strode off down the street without looking back, whistling and smiling to himself.

Behind him a shadow detached itself from the side of neighbor's house and squelched across the street to stand under Buffy's window. It watched the light go on, the hand that closed the curtains, and remained there after the lights went out.


	6. Chapter 6

Buffy was alone, walking through the warehouse district, trying to reach her friends where they were hanging out without her at the Bronze. She knew it was important that she be there, but wasn't sure why, and wished she could just stay out here. A fog had rolled in, and the misty wetness smelled pleasantly of the sea and the nice wet dirt, cement and iron scent that sometimes came with rain, seeming to cancel out all the usual fast food and car and laundry and trash smells. The streets and alleys seemed deserted, though she didn't think it was late; but she couldn't hear a sound besides her own footsteps. Just a peaceful hush, the mist, and her, swinging a stake in her hand loosely. Suddenly she felt a tingle, followed immediately by a hand on her arm. She spun and raised her arm fluidly and had almost completed the arc of the stake by burying it in the vampire's chest when she stopped herself and gasped.

“Oh my god, I almost—what if I had—” She began to cry, desperately, uncontrollably. Somewhere in the back of her mind she thought, again? Since when do I just cry all the time? How stupid!

The vampire wrapped her in his arms and murmured soothingly into her hair, nuzzling a little. She quieted, pulled back and their eyes met; then their lips. The tears were still running down her face, but they continued to kiss, for what felt like hours, days; she felt like she was untethered, floating through space...but something was wrong. Where her hands gripped him he was slipping away; his lips felt wrong under hers. She pulled back and was frozen with horror; Angel was rotting, falling apart in her hands—she still held the black wool of his coat but the flesh beneath had become liquid and putrefied; his face was hideous, but he seemed not to know. She backed away in terror as he asked her what was wrong, why she was leaving him, didn't she still love him? She backed into something—someone else—and twisted frantically to get away, but large steady hands gripped her and held her in place.

“Shhh, love, it's okay, I've got you. It's all right now, just look, see—everything is fine...”

She looked around in amazement. She and Spike were standing in the alley, still, but Angel was gone; the mist continued to swirl around them and blur the outlines of the buildings, but there was warm glow where the sun was rising behind the warehouses and she could hear waves crashing somewhere close by. The bright mist reminded her of something, somewhere she had been, but she couldn't think where. All she knew was that the fear was gone, and she felt safe, and warm, and loved, and she knew everything was going to be all right.

She smiled at him, feeling her heart expand with happiness. She felt filled with energy, like running, jumping, doing cartwheels. But somehow it felt just as right to stay calm and still and let all the exuberant movement stay within her chest. He wrapped one arm around her, and they walked down the alley together, her arm falling around his waist easily, so that she could feel him against her side, feel his muscles moving through the cotton beneath her hand. He dropped a kiss in her hair and she turned her face up, laughing a little with giddy happiness, catching him and touching her lips to hers. They turned into one another, and as they kissed she raised herself off her heels to lean into him, to feel his cool, hard body press against her yielding softness. His hands trailed down her back and over her hips, leaving what felt like showers of sparks everywhere they passed.

She felt as if light was running through her body, up from the earth and through her, as if they were surrounded by a glow. The kiss deepened, intensified; she melted, more turned on than she had ever been in her waking life. He pinned her against the wall, their bodies pressed together; his hand cradled the back of her head, holding it steady while he explored her mouth with his tongue. Distantly, she heard herself moaning.

A short distance away, an oddly attired figure stood against the wall, watching, as a puddle formed at its feet.

\------------------------------------

Buffy was overly warm, but comfortable, and content. She didn't want to move, or think. But gradually, sensation returned; she became aware of noises in the hall outside her bedroom, then of the light shining in through the cracks in the curtains. And then, horribly, all at once, she became aware of a stew of terrible feelings in her gut, of worry, fear, guilt, and under it all, the utter hopelessness of being here, in this terrible world. It was as if her bones had dissolved; she was pinned to the bed by gravity, her flesh was the weight of an elephant, too much even for her Slayer strength to handle the effort of moving. Her eyes closed again as she tried to forget, to remember the contentment, the absence of all this. But it was gone, all of it, too far gone to even feel the ghost of it in a memory. All that remained was the dampness between her legs, and the memory of what—who—had caused it intensified her shame until it was nearly unbearable. Tears leaked between her lids as she lay there, trying to hold perfectly still. Trying to disappear.

\------------------------------------

She woke, suddenly. Someone was pounding on her door...no, only knocking. It just seemed loud and harsh to her sensitive ears.

“Yes?” she tried. It came out very quiet and raspy sounding. “Yes?” she said more loudly, sitting up. It was dusk, and her room was dim and stuffy. Dawn came in, carrying a sandwich in one hand and a plate in the other.

“Hey Buffy, you've been sleeping all day! Willow said to let you, but now it's late and everyone wants to go down to the shop and find out if you found anything last night and if that's why you're so tired and Spike's here to stay with me, which is totally stupid, because we should both just go with you all and anyway I don't need to be watched—now that you're back you should totally tell everyone to stop freaking out about having someone with me all the time because, hello? Old here? And plus, just a normal girl now, no danger? Anyway, I though you should know, and maybe get up, and this is...well I was eating this, but you can have it if you want, I guess you must be hungry after not eating all day. Unless you ate before you went to bed? That always makes me feel funny when I wake up....”

“No, I'm not hungry. It's okay, thanks Dawn. Um, so everyone's ready to go then? I guess I should get dressed and stuff...my hair, ugh. Um, I'll get up...” she began to try to find things to take into the shower with her, but couldn't seem to do anything through the fog in her head. Dawn turned on the light.

“Oh yeah, that's better—thanks. You said ...Spike's here?”

“Yeah, but he wouldn't tell me anything about if you guys found anything out. Said you'd tell Giles about it. So did you see something? Was it a fish? Was it, like a mermaid? Like the scary mermaids in the Pirates of the Caribbean?”

“Um, no. It wasn't anything, really. Just some demons. I'm, uh...I'm going to take a shower. Just tell everybody I'll be right there, will you?”

Dawn watched her go. She knew she didn't need to be watched—but it was still nice to have Spike around. She knew he'd rather be with Buffy, but it was nice how he still hung out with her even now that Buffy was back again. And at least she could blow off her homework with Spike in charge.

When Buffy got downstairs, sure enough, everyone was waiting. She didn't see Spike, but she could smell cigarette smoke faintly coming through the front door. She flushed and focused on the group in the living room, hoping to distract herself.

Xander jumped up. “Hey there Buff—I'm sure you're good and rested but just in case, never fear—I've come to whisk you downtown in my purple chariot! Thought you ladies might like a ride, and anyway I needed to give Anya a ride home later, so I'm driving tonight.”

“Okay,” said Buffy. Willow and Tara were watching her, and she felt like she should say something else, but couldn't think of anything. After a few awkward moments, she headed for the porch.

She was going towards the car when Spike hailed her from the side of the house. He was poking around in the grass and looked perturbed.

“Come look at this, won't you?”

She went over to him, followed by the others, plus Dawn, who was now carrying only a plate. He was leaning over what appeared to be a muddy patch of lawn.

“Um, okay, what exactly are we looking at here?” asked Xander. “It's...wet?”

“It's not just wet, it's salty,” said Spike, “and look at this—” and he lifted a strand of something mud colored and slimy looking “—it's seaweed!”

“They were here, at our house!” Dawn looked impressed, though not, in Spike's opinion, suitably frightened. “And you figured it out, all CSI like!”

Buffy was looking up, a forbidding scowl on her face. She exchanged a meaningful look with Spike, who nodded. “They were watching me. They were looking in my window! Who knows how long they were here—it could have been all night...” She began poking at the mud with her foot, gauging the depth and area of the wet spot.

“Well, I figure they left before it got light out—can't see them just standing about dripping in broad sun—so they were here a few hours, tops, but yeah, I don't care for it. Do you think they followed us?”

Buffy shrugged, still looking up at her window. She hugged herself self-consciously; she knew the demon couldn't have seen anything, and that even if they had seen in the window, they couldn't know what she was thinking (had been dreaming), but she felt exposed, vulnerable. She deliberately dismissed any thoughts of what the demon might or might not have seen or heard and straightened up. This was unacceptable! They would have to get to the bottom of it.

Willow and Tara were holding the seaweed and looking around a wide area of lawn, conferring quietly. Then Tara looked up and spoke to the group. “I think we may be able to track it,” she said. “Willow can do a simple trace, and we can find out where they went to from here.”

“I think we know where it went, but okay—you two do that, and follow its trail back. Xander, you and me will go to the Magic Box and catch Giles up and start looking into things. Spike, you stay here with Dawn—Dawn, stay inside, and do your homework! And keep the curtains closed...” she finished, more quietly. Spike was smiling at her in that knowing way of his, looking pleased about something. She gave him a dirty look and strode towards Xander's sedan. “Come on Xan, let's get going, I wanna have some time left after all this to get out there and look for these pests!”

“Kick some pesty pescatarian patootie.” mumbled Xander, following her at a more sedate pace.

\-------------------------------------

Giles and Anya listened attentively to Buffy's tale of the night before, and their recent discovery. Buffy wasn't able to answer most of their questions about the demons' appearance, though. It had been difficult to see and a short window of time, and she found she had very little that felt useful to tell them. Giles, however, was more interested in their silence than in physical descriptions, it turned out.

“So you say they all turned towards you at once, but you saw no signals? Are you sure there weren't any noises at all, that you may not have identified as language?”

“No way, Giles. It was like we were the only people for miles it was so quiet out there—all I could hear was the water.” Something nagged at the corner of Buffy's attention annoyingly, a thought, a memory, another time she'd heard waves recently, but she couldn't quite focus on it.

“Maybe they talk in some super high frequency that only dogs can hear, like dolphins?” Anya suggested as she tallied receipts.

“That may be, Anya—I was thinking something else, but that is certainly a possibility. They are, after all, underwater beings, it would seem. Standard methods of oral communication would be useless to them...”

Willow and Tara burst in excitedly. “It worked,” said a flushed and triumphant Willow. “We did it, I used the seaweed and made a trail of salt, and, well, anyway, we followed it, all the way down to the water!”

“W-we didn't find anything there, though,” Tara added. “Just water.”

“Well, yeah, but now we know that they went back there, after...and it worked!” Willow said, a bit subdued.

“Well, we haven't got much either I'm afraid. Buffy didn't get much of a look at them when she and Spike spotted them on patrol, and we don't know how the demons were able to follow them without being detected, but I have some theories that they may communicate non-verbally, as a larger unit.” Giles filled them in.

Willow looked excited again. “So you saw them?” she asked. “But you just aren't sure what you saw?”

“Ye-es...” Buffy said cautiously. “Why?”

“I know something! I've been working on something! It could be perfect for this—it's like, like a memory spell sort of, like it makes a, a recording of something out of your mind. And then we could all look at it, and, you know, zoom in and compare it to pictures in the books and stuff.”

“You want to pull something out of my mind, to take a picture? And everyone's going to look at it?What if you get the wrong thing? Have you tried this?” Buffy's arms were wrapped around her middle again and she could feel her eyebrows knitting together.

“No no, it's really safe! It's just a little spell, hardly anything. Just skimming the surface of your mind, just images. Nothing else, I swear!”

Giles was looking at Willow with a strange expression, but remained silent.

“Well...um, I guess...” Buffy agreed. She looked around—no one seemed too concerned, except Giles, but even he remained silent. She didn't really want anyone looking at images in her head, even Willow, but she felt petty complaining, so she closed her book and she, Willow and Tara, headed into the back room to prepare. After all, Willow had already been in her head before, last year, and this was a way less big thing than that, so why should she mind? And she had brought her back from beyond—it was practically Willow's head too in a way, like she'd made it. But what if she saw....things she shouldn't?

“Are you sure you can get the right thing? How do you know what to get without looking at everything?” she asked.

“Yeah totally, I can just do it by time, like only the last 24 hours, you know?”

Buffy didn't feel very comforted by this.

\-----------------------------------

Spike was pacing and repeatedly parting the curtains to peek into different parts of the yard, but he didn't see anything out of place. He kept Dawn's heartbeat within earshot as he made his circuits of the house, which meant focusing his vampire hearing intently on her. So when she shrieked his name he flinched and clapped a hand to his head.

“Oi, Niblet, what the hell?”

“Spike! Stop that—how am I supposed to focus on this boring junk with you doing laps around me? You're like an anxious puppy!”

“I am not like a puppy, you take that back! I'm keeping an eye out for you. You want to know if those buggers are hanging around your house don't you? Not going to have them peeking in the windows and spying on you lot if I can help it.”

Dawn scowled at him and returned to her homework.

“Just, you know...pace quieter or something.”

Spike took up a stationary position at the front window, standing where he could see sideways through the crack in the curtains. He was almost glad to have this new threat—it really seemed to be doing Buffy some good, getting her back on track. But he didn't like the idea of these newcomers hanging around outside the house. And who were they anyway? He'd never heard of any sea demons, let alone a bunch of different kinds working together. And why were they hanging around? He wasn't wrong in the first place; that demon Buffy had killed in the graveyard wasn't attacking anyone, it didn't even fight back. But then they...did something to him—he touched his face self-consciously, though it felt normal again—and now they were following Buffy around, or something.

She needed this, true—it was good for her to have something to fight. But this situation was more than it seemed. He was simply going to have to try to get to the bottom of this.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To recap-- Willow is about to perform a memory recovery spell on Buffy to try to identify the demons threatening them. Willow is excited to test this spell, which she developed in the hopes of getting to watch the spell she did to bring Buffy back from the grave, and thus to gain the tools to find out where Buffy was, so she can fix whatever is wrong with her and causing her to act so unlike herself. Buffy is afraid Willow will see things she, Buffy, would prefer to keep secret-- namely the fact that she was in heaven, and a very sexy recent dream about Spike.....

Buffy sat nervously as Willow and Tara paced off a circle around her, laying out crystals and pebbles and herbs. What would they see? Willow said she would only pull the images from the very surface, but what if she was wrong? What if Buffy couldn't think about anything but all the things she didn't want anyone to see?

“Okay,” said Tara, “we're just about done here. Are you ready? All you need to do is be calm and clear your mind.”

Buffy breathed deeply, remembering the meditation training she had done with Giles last year. She would be fine. She could clear her mind, and then they wouldn't see anything. She continued to breathe, slowing her heart rate and focusing on a nearby crystal.

She was in an empty white room. She was alone. She was in a formless mist. Time was meaningless. Someone else was there. She could hear the sound of waves. She was in the room again. She was alone. Willow was speaking to her. She was looking into the crystal. She was in the back room of the Magic Box, blinking.

“What, I...what went wrong? Is it me?”

“No! Nothing went wrong, it was great, it totally worked, just like it was supposed to,” Willow said excitedly. “We got it, it's in here—” holding up the crystal Buffy was sure she had just been looking at on the floor. Buffy looked where it had been, and around the room, feeling dazed.

“Oh! Well...okay. So...now we get it out of there, I guess?”

“Yeah, come on, let's go out front and we can all look at it together...”

“Oh, well...maybe we can just check first...?” Buffy asked, but Willow had already whisked away with the crystal. Tara was clearing up the spell components, but smiled and said for her to go ahead, so she slowly went towards the front room, still feeling fuzzy and slow.

They all gathered around the table for the viewing, and Willow carefully placed the crystal in the middle. She said a few words, waved her hands in a pattern, and a light appeared above it.

“Help me Obi-wan Kenobi—you're our only hope!” muttered Xander.

The light swirled and gradually coalesced into an image of Buffy, surrounded by a mist, smiling. The real Buffy tensed. She'd known this was a bad idea. But the image faded, replaced by what at first seemed to be darkness, then showed itself to be the beach at night.

Willow was muttering a stream of quiet words, seemingly half spell maintenance and half commentary.

“What was that? Wasn't supposed to...maybe just a baseline...Althemis grant this sight, make it hold against time's blight....here it is...a little closer....maybe clearer?...grant us light, dispel this night....freeze it? No, just a loop maybe...”

And there they were! The group of demons was just as she had seen them the previous evening, only clearer, as well lit as if a spotlight was focused on them. There were two or three like the one she had killed, though they looked much better and more powerful in their proper element, moving sinuously through the surf. There were armored demons with long, barb-tipped tails, and demons with large fish-like scales. They were what appeared to be small dragons without legs, and most amazing of all—mermen!

They stared in wonder. Giles was peering excitedly at the tiny figures, moving around the table to observe from different perspectives.

“Look here,” he said, “they are certainly communicating through non-verbal means, their mouths don't move, yet the body language—oh look at that, they're even gesturing! This is truly fascinating—that they should be so varied yet clearly linked in some way. What can it mean...?” He moved away from the table and began pulling books from the shelf, rifling pages and replacing some, but acquiring a large stack anyway.

Buffy was non-plussed.

“These are...I mean, they're fish. Or, fishy! Is this even my jurisdiction? I can't fight them in the water; and some of them don't even have legs! Shouldn't there be, like, a sea-Slayer or something? Like, a Slayer, but a mermaid?”

“Like Aquagirl?” This was Xander, again. The group ignored him, again.

Giles looked up from his books. “Buffy does have a point, to a certain extent...”

Buffy interrupted, incredulously—“I do? There really is an aqua-Slayer?”

“No, of course not,” sighed Giles, “I merely meant that it will be difficult for you to fight these creatures, as you will be severely disadvantaged, and I wonder whether it is, indeed, up to you to do so.”

“Well, I can't just let them hang around outside my house—I have to do something!”

“Yes, of course. Why don't you patrol, and we'll get to work looking into the matter.”

Willow had let the spell maintaining the hologram-like image drop, and was looking through Giles' stack of books, looking pleased with herself. Tara and Xander nodded to show their willingness to research, so Buffy prepared to leave. She stopped on her way out, and began to speak, then hesitated.

“What is it?” asked Tara.

“Well, it's only—well, if I'm going to go back down to the beach, maybe someone should go back to the house to stay with Dawn, and Spike should come along with me?”

“Yes!” Anya said unexpectedly from behind the register. “I'm done with the receipts; Xander and I can go to your house. We can wait until these two are done researching and come home. No problem! We can even take you back there to meet Spike.”

\--------------------------------------

 

Spike and Buffy headed out from her house, following the route that Willow had described to them. They chatted some on the way down to the beach, but Buffy seemed lost in her own thoughts and Spike decided to leave her be for the moment. He had a lot to think about as well. There was something about this whole situation that he felt he just wasn't quite grasping. What would these sea creatures possibly want from them? It was strange that they would care enough about the Slayer to keep watch over her, and even stranger if they had really been the ones to kidnap him—what could they possibly want from him? He just couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something.

“So you didn't ask what happened at the shop,” Buffy said abruptly.

“Figure I can probably guess,” Spike replied, lifting an eyebrow in her direction. “Research, books, you didn't find anything out, so we're off for another moonlit stroll along the shore?”

“Willow did a spell,” said Buffy flatly.

“Oh?”

They were silent for a few steps, Spike waiting, then—

“She took a picture from inside my head, of the demons. She said it was something she invented for something or other. It worked, they got to look at them, and Giles was really excited about how they talk to each other, or why, and now they're trying to find them. I just wanted to leave.”

“She took a picture, in your head?! You let her go rummaging around in there, or what?”

“Yeah. That's weird, right? Do you think that's weird?”

“Bloody right it's weird! Glad no one tried that on me. Why'd you let her, then, anyway?”

He looked curiously at her. She answered softly, looking down.

“I don't know. I didn't really want to, I was afraid...”

“Afraid what, love?”

“That she'd see, where I was. Where she brought me back from. And...other stuff. Stuff that's private.”

“Well I'd think so—you shouldn't be sorry for wanting the inside of your own head to be private!”

They lapsed back into silence, but Spike, smoking cigarettes furiously, was agitated. What was Willow doing? He was so glad Buffy was back that he tried not to think about the how too much, but when he did, he felt very uneasy. Good and evil weren't exactly his area of expertise—well, evil was, sure, but moral distinctions, not so much. And Willow was good, of course, he knew that—but he'd never known of anyone who wasn't evil doing the kind of magics she did. It just seemed...funny somehow. Between this and the ocean demon situation, he was feeling distinctly in over his head. Buffy was the obvious moral compass but she seemed a little adrift herself lately. And then thinking about these things led to the really sticky questions, such as, did he want to be good? He was on Buffy's side of course, but beyond that he was still who he had always been, and that was evil, of course. So what did he care if Willow was slipping, and if Buffy was too, shouldn't he be cheering them on? Shouldn't he be happy to have her coming around to his side?

He was feeling extremely cranky and jittery by the time they got to the beach. He stomped across the sand in a beeline towards the water's edge.

“Hey, hey,” hissed Buffy, striding after him. “Slow down!”

“Why?” he said, at full volume. “Let em know I'm coming. HEY! Shark bait! Come out here and face me! You gonna go squirming off under the waves cause you're scared? Let's go then!”

“Spike! What is wrong with you? What if they do come out here? How are we supposed to fight all of them? What if they drag us in the water? SOME of us have to BREATHE you know!”

Buffy ran full out after him, catching up before he reached the waves. She grabbed ahold of him by the jacket, and they both went down onto the sand.

“What is your problem? You know we can take em! You were plenty ready to start killing 'em off the other night. Screw waiting around while they hang about and take pictures of us and mess with our minds or whatever, let's just do this!”

He squirmed around trying to shake her off of him, feeling the need to fight something tangible, to just punch something, becoming nearly overwhelming.

“No!” she yelled, “That's not what we're doing! I'm in charge here and I say NO!” and she punched him in the nose.

Spike was annoyed past bearing it. At least she'd actually said what she always meant, but it enraged him to hear it anyway. Bloody bossy little.... what was he anyway? Just her faithful toothless hound? How dare she? Before he realized what he was doing, a century's worth of instinct over-rode the two years of training himself to hold back, and he struck back.

Buffy flew back off him, her hands flying to her face. He automatically jumped up and into a defensive position, but she wasn't moving. She was just sitting on the damp sand with a strange look on her face. He stopped too and looked at her blankly, until...

“Oh my god!” he yelled— “I'm cured! It's a freaking miracle! Buffy! This is... Yes!”

He threw his arms in the air triumphantly.

“Buffy—Slayer—isn't this bleedin fantastic?”

He calmed down a little as he looked at her again. She looked horrified, and—frightened?

\-------------------------------

Buffy was stunned. Out of all the things that could have happened, this—she could barely handle everything that was already happening, and now...she'd have to fight Spike, too? And, without Spike's help? She might think she should spend a little less time with him, but she didn't want him gone—she was very conscious of how dependent on him she'd become. And now...all that was over. Another loss, and this one felt—she almost couldn't take it in. It was just too much. Wasn't it enough that she'd had to fight Angel? To kill him? And now...now she would have to kill Spike. All by herself. She steeled herself and reached for a stake.


	8. Chapter 8

Spike and Buffy were frozen in position for a few seconds that felt like hours before Spike was able to understand what he was seeing in her face, what she was thinking.

“No! Not now, I need to be here—I wouldn't hurt you! I mean, not really...” he trailed off, looking at the hand still clutched over her nose. “You can't be serious. After everything...you know I'm changed, Slayer! We're on the...well, I mean..”

“What? The same side? Are we? You've told me enough times how evil you still are, you've made it plenty clear what you want! So what if you won't try to kill me any more, or maybe even Dawn—”

“I would never!” Spike yelled. “How could you even—”

“But you'll feed! You'll kill other people and I...I can't...it's my job.” Buffy was crying openly by now. The stake in her fist remained steady, but her knees were weak. How could this be happening? She couldn't do it, not again! She was supposed to save people, to do good—how many times would doing her job mean killing someone she—who was a friend? How could the powers be so cruel—did she deserve this? Was it a test? Things were going fine, Spike was chipped, and so they could work together...why did things always have to change?

Spike's mind was reeling. She was wrong, but how could he tell her so? He WAS evil! But...but...well, he could just continue not feeding off people, and, well, he was pretty used to living off of dead blood now anyway. It wasn't really so awful. And, of course, Buffy and Dawn needed him. If all he had to do was stay off the blood, there was no choice at all to be made. So, actually this was easy. Now all he had to do was convince her....

“Now Slayer, put that away and let's talk about this reasonably. I know what you have to do, but you can't seriously think I'm going to go right back to trying to kill you and yours just because that bloody chip is gone! I've told you and told you, I'm in bloody love with you! And I'm on your side, dammit, I may be evil, but I'm not...I'm...” he stalled again. He wasn't good! So what was he? Was she right about him? He sat down again, looking between his boots.

“I don't know what I am Buffy,” he continued quietly. “I don't know where I belong anymore. But I know that I'm yours, and I want to be...maybe I want to be good, for you. I'm not going to feed, or hurt anyone who doesn't bloody well deserve it. But I don't expect you to trust me. So I don't ….I don't know what happens. But I can't go back to fighting you, I won't. You need me, and I won't leave you.” He kept his eyes trained on the sand, afraid to look at her, unsure of what would happen.

When she spoke she sounded uncertain.

“But then why—why were you so happy, just now? If nothing's going to change, why do you care if the chip's there or not?”

He looked up sharply.

“Why? How would you like it pet, someone in your head, telling you what you can and can't do, spanking you like a naughty boy if you so much as think the wrong thing? That chip may have changed things, brought me where I am, but I will never be grateful to those rotting army vivisectionists for what they did to me! That chip—those bloody fucking arrogant bastards had no right! Treating me like an animal, a thing... That's no way to live, Buffy,” he finished, quieting some and looking down again. “And what does it mean, for me to change for you, if I don't have a choice? Maybe...maybe now...” he was almost whispering now, and didn't finish.

Buffy was too confused to speak. The speed with which all of this had happened was just...she was overwhelmed. She felt so slow, all the time, these days, as if each new idea needed time to oh-so-slowly infiltrate her molassses-like mind, and now in the space of twenty minutes she'd gone from a normal night, to having to kill Spike (kill Spike!), to, to this. Spike, good? Spike, changed??

“But—but—you don't have a soul!” she countered feebly, sitting back down herself. The stake hand dropped to her side as her body began to accept that she was not, after all, about to kill anyone.

“Yeah, well, what of it? Didn't need a soul to protect your little sis all summer, or to love you, right? What bloody of it? I never said anything, all this time; didn't have the right, as I see it, but damn soul's are overrated, you ask me...”

“But, I—you can't be good, you just can't! I mean, well, what about Angel? That proves it, right?”

She felt as if she were moving and thinking in slow motion, a number of steps behind. It was like a nightmare about an exam where she knew the answers but she just couldn't keep up...it was all so tiring. If only she could just not be doing this now, could go home, lie down.... But she could not leave Spike alone. He was a danger (but why didn't she feel like he was?). She had to stay and sort this out.

Spike sighed.

“I don't know, love. I don't know why he is the way he is. I don't know what it all means. But I know I'm not the same as him, never have been, and you know it too, I know you do. You don't want to know, don't like what it means for you and your beloved Angel, but you would never have left Angelus with your friends, your sister. You would never let him in your house, even with a chip. It's the truth Slayer, and I know it's a right kick in the pants, but you have to deal with it, now.”

She was drowning; she could almost feel the water closing over her head. She couldn't speak, think. It was all too much. She remembered her dream, the feeling of Angel slipping out of her grasp. She started to shake.

Spike moved to her and helped her gently to her feet.

“Let's get you home Slayer. This is enough for you for one night, people mucking about in your head, plus all this. We'll save the world tomorrow, when you're rested up a bit. Come on.”

“But...but I have to...”

“They'll wait, and I'll keep a watch for you till sunup, and then you'll know I'm not eating anyone besides, right? Let's get you home.”

She meekly allowed him to lead her off the beach. Even when they reached the pavement, she continued to hold his arm to her side.

As they left, Spike thought he glimpsed a flash of movement behind them, near the water's edge, but when he looked, nothing was there.

\-----------------------------

 

Buffy was grateful to be in her bed, but as tired as she felt—and she'd never been so worn through—sleep didn't come. For a time that seemed endless, her thoughts swirled and roiled uselessly. Spike unchipped—Spike changed?—Angel, Angelus, souls—spells in her head—Spike... But eventually the hurricane of thoughts seemed to blow itself out, and she could see things more clearly. Maybe, as screwed up as everything was, more clearly than she had since coming back. She was not going to dust Spike. She didn't need to. They had a lot to work out, and things were different now, but she trusted him at least enough to give him a chance. He had earned that, and it was what was right.

As for what he'd said about Angel—well he was right that he wasn't telling her anything new, but these were thoughts she still wasn't ready to have, and as much as she could while trying to process the new situation with Spike, she would continue to shove them to the back of her mind. She knew it was something she needed to face someday, but not now. Not yet. For now, she had other things to deal with. She had been in heaven, yes. And being back here was...not what she would have chosen. But she was here, and she had wallowed enough. She was angry, still, but her friends had meant well, and they needed her; she needed to put her anger aside and move on. There were monsters to deal with and her sister to take care of, as the monks had intended her to do. It was time for her to come all the way back, to get over it.

At last she drifted off, resolute, and feeling stronger than she could remember for a long time.

\-------------------------------

She was in a blue mist. No, it was water—she was underwater! She briefly panicked, but almost immediately realized she didn't need to breathe. She looked around cautiously, noting how slowly her limbs moved, how heavy she felt in the unfamiliar medium. It was dim, but she could make out other figures. They were moving in place, just enough to hold their positions in a circle around her, and seemed to be waiting for something. Even as she had this thought, the circle parted, and a huge, shadowy figure approached. Buffy's heart beat sped up and she tensed. Whatever was coming was huge, as big as the mayor, as the things in the Hellmouth, too big to fight alone. As it grew closer parts became visible, but it hardly seemed to be only one being. It was like a sea serpent, a huge underwater dragon, but with parts of...other things. It had breasts—no, udders—and the face of a woman, of sorts. It had lips and a nose and eyes, but they were—different. Reptilian. The creature looked at Buffy, and she heard its voice, in her head.

She awoke gasping, her heart pounding. For the first time she could remember she didn't feel tired—she was energized, and ready to get to work. She got out of bed and flung her curtains open to the sun.

\-----------------------------------

“So you have no idea what the creature said?” Giles was saying, rubbing his forehead wearily. He looked as if he'd been up researching all night; the books in his living room had multiplied until they were spilling everywhere.

“Sorry, Giles, I've told you everything I can. But listen...there's something else...” Buffy said hesitantly.

Just then the door burst open and a crowd came in.

“We're here,” Anya announced redundantly, “and we have nourishment!”

She was followed by Xander and Dawn, carrying trays of takeout, and Willow and Tara, moving more sedately and stopping to hang their jackets by the door.

“The gang's all here!” Xander said heartily. “What's the big news? Do we have a line on our not-so-friendly stalkers? A plan?”

“Buffy has had a dream which might help us, and I hope that with this new information our research will be able to turn up the...congregation...of demons we are dealing with, and we can perhaps figure out what they might want here in Sunnydale.”

The group served up food and ate as Giles and Buffy caught them up to date, then got to work. Willow was eager to do the visualization spell again to help them find the serpent woman, but Buffy insisted that her memory of the dream was plenty and it wasn't necessary. Dawn dove right in to the books with the others, and Buffy started to say something to her about homework, but changed her mind. Instead she settled next to her and asked what she was looking at. Dawn looked surprised, but soon they were happily sharing a book and chatting.

A little after sunset, Spike came in. He looked around warily, and when the group just stared back at him, turned to Buffy and quirked a brow.

“Hello Spike,” Anya said brightly. “It turns out we're fighting a giant sea serpent with boobs and psychic powers! Have you ever heard of something like that?”

Spike just looked at her, astonished, and shook his head, while walking straight to where Buffy and Dawn sat.

“So, luv,” he leaned over the back of the couch, close to her, “is last night's news our little secret for any reason? Afraid your mates might skewer me, then?”

“What—no, I just haven't got a chance...and, uh—I was going to tell everyone...”

“Well, don't bother,” he said, “I will!” and headed to where Xander was sitting.

“Hey, hey,” Xander said as he got close, “personal space—back off, you freak!”

But he just kept walking until he was up in the boy's face, and smiled.

“This...” he said happily, “is going to be bloody great” and smacked Xander in the head.

Everyone except the two of them froze, and then there was a lot of noise, all at once. Spike and Xander both fell to the ground, Xander yelling furiously at him, Spike silent, in blinding pain and shocked to the core. Anya rushed towards them and cradled Xander, reproaching Spike loudly. Giles, Tara and Willow leapt to their feet, and Dawn rushed to Spike, though berating him as she did.

Spike and Buffy just stared at each other, eyes wide, trying to make sense of it. It was Buffy who figured it out first and reacted, breaking into hysterical laughter. Even when everyone turned to her, even more alarmed at her strange reaction than they had been by the violence, she couldn't stop the laughter, or the tears streaming down her face.

Spike, recovering, punched the floor as hard as he could, screaming “FUCK!!” at the top of his lungs, and tore out of the apartment, slamming the door violently.


	9. Chapter 9

Buffy was still wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, but she was serious and composed. The others were having a hard time taking the situation in.

Giles was cleaning his glasses furiously, between stabs at discussing Spike's on again/off again unchipping and Buffy's possible exemption to the chip's effectiveness, and frantic book gathering.

Willow was asking questions intently and typing in her laptop, looking extremely annoyed with everyone else's attempts to question Buffy, and Xander was livid.

“So, what, you weren't going to mention that a mass murdering psychopath was on the loose again, and oh yeah, stopping by later to hang out?! ARE YOU INSANE?”

“Xander, it's not... I was going to tell everyone, I just got sidetracked by the dream and the serpent, and I kind of thought it could...wait. And hey, false alarm!” Buffy finished brightly.

“Buffy, this is a very serious matter.” Giles deposited a fresh pile of books on the coffee table. “If Spike's chip had actually been deactivated, and he were free to hunt, it would be of the utmost importance to—”

“To what?!” cried Buffy. “To kill him? I almost did! But he...we...I think he's...he's different.”

“He's not different, he's fucking hobbled!” Xander yelled. “He doesn't have a soul, and he can't change! Why am I the only one that remembers that he's a vampire?!”

“Honey, calm down,” Anya ordered. “It's not good for you to get so worked up. Do you need me to relax you? Because we can— ”

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by Xander quickly spinning around and pressing his lips to hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck happily and stopped trying to talk.

“So did you feel different when you came back, at first?” asked Willow, taking advantage of the lull in conversation.

“Oh my god you guys!” Buffy stood up. “Enough! Spike is not a threat, with or without the chip, and if that changes, I WILL DEAL with it. Now, I am doing my job, and I am telling you that I thought this through, a lot, and made a decision, and now it turns out the chip is fine anyway so GIVE IT A REST!”

They gaped at her, amazed by the abrupt return of the familiar old take charge Buffy, but not looking quite as pleased as she might have hoped. She gave a sigh, and took a moment to calm herself down.

“Keep researching,” she commanded, “I'm going patrolling. Willow, Tara, get Dawn home by eleven, she has school in the morning, and Dawn, don't research if you have homework. I'll see you all tomorrow.”

And she swept out the door. A moment later, it opened again, and she retrieved her light jacket. Since she was back anyway, she gave Dawn a peck on the cheek before sweeping out again.

\-----------------------------------

Spike paced furiously around downtown Sunnydale, not knowing where he was going, or caring. He stopped regularly to punch a wall or dumpster and yell, snarling viciously at any passerby who paused to look at him.

He'd believed, really believed, that he was free. For a whole night and a day, he'd experienced the feeling of being his own man again, in charge of his destiny, able to choose, think for himself. It was like the agony of being chipped for the first time all over again, but worse. He didn't deserve this! What had he done when he thought the chip was gone? Nothing. He hadn't tried to kill anyone, or even get in a fistfight! He was changed, a new man, but it didn't matter to the bloody hardware in his skull. Would he ever be released? It wasn't right. It—punch—wasn't—bloody—kick—fair!!

He screamed as loud as he could and beat a tattoo on the bricks in front of him; it bloodied his knuckles, but didn't help. When a woman passing by the end of the alley he was in looked his way, frightened, he growled and feinted towards her, making her stumble backwards and scurry away. He sat down hard, burying his head in his arms.

When, after a while, he heard the tentative footsteps approach he just remained still. Buffy sat down beside him and gingerly touched his battered hands. He tensed, but didn't look at her.

“I'm sorry,” she said after a while. “I guess you're pretty upset, huh?”

He just gave a harsh, bitter laugh.

“Sweetheart, go home. I'm not fit to be around right now, I promise you. You don't want to do this.”

She took her hand away and sat with her arms wrapped around her legs.

“I don't want to go,” she finally said. “I don't want to be home, or patrolling alone. I want to be here.”

“Is that right?” Spike asked heavily. “And do you want to watch me get stinking plastered and start one hell of a brawl with some demon or another? Cause that's what I'm about to do, whether or not you're there.”

“Yes. I mean, no, but I will...I don't think you should be alone.”

“Been alone plenty before now, pet. Afraid I might do something nasty? Can't hurt anyone but you, it seems. Humans, I mean. Your lot figure things out yet?”

“It's just...I'm magic, I think. I'm not... a normal human, cause normal humans haven't been brought back from the dead. They don't know anything, but I don't need a fancy test, or Willow, to tell me that. It kind of helps in a way—to know I'm not crazy for feeling so different now. That I really am different.”

“That's bollocks!” Spike spat at her, finally raising his eyes. “They tell you that? You're not different, I'd know! I knew it was you the minute I saw you—the feeling, the smell of you—”

“Eww!”

“Oh shut up, Slayer! Smell is serious to a vampire, and it's not disgusting or funny! It's bloody beautiful, the uniqueness of it, of everyone...I know you. And I'd know if you were a cheap copy—hell we had one of those all summer, no comparison. You're you. The chip's just...a little wonky around magic probably.”

“Yeah well...anyway. I know it must be hard for you...to think...”

Spike laughed, a harsh bark, and leaned his head back against the brick walls.

“Yeah. Bit of a nasty shock all right. Get it? Shock?” he laughed humorlessly again.

Buffy regarded him silently, calmly.

“Well, let's go then. You wanna come along and paint the town with me? Let's get on with it.”

He stood and stomped off without looking back.

Why now? He would have given anything, so many nights, to have Buffy come out and about with him, to do more than tolerate him. But tonight—he couldn't appreciate it, the mood he was in. Learning (he thought!) that his chip was gone hadn't made him want to kill—he'd been fine to continue as he was. Just knowing he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, he didn't want to. But discovering himself to be bound again, still, after all—he wanted to hurt. To tear a bloody swath through this town, to destroy and burn and scream his anger. To break things, bones, necks. The feelings of helplessness were unbearable. The thought that he was at the mercy of humans; him! Killer of demons, slayers, scourge of...in his head he heard Buffy's voice making fun of him, and cut himself off.

Tonight he couldn't do it, couldn't baby her through her crisis, be Mr Nice Vampire for her. Well, she wanted to tag along anyway? Fine. She'd never come round anyway, may as well see who he was, still, chip or no.

He slammed open the door of Willy's and when the bartender didn't attend him promptly he grabbed the back of the demon ordering drinks and hurled it to the floor. When he began to protest Spike smashed a boot into its face and kicked his ribs for good measure. He could see Buffy's face out of the corner of his eye; a little shocked. Well good! Stepping up to the bar he snarled his order, and snatching the bottle of whiskey he strode off towards a booth without looking around. After a moment Buffy appeared; to his slight surprise, she was holding a beer.

“Never took you for much of a drinker, Slayer,” he said. “Thought you were just here to keep an eye on me.”

“I...I wanna...you can show me. Like you said, the other night. This world. You said it wasn't like I thought. You can show me.”

“Not really in the mood for giving tours tonight, love. Just trying to keep from dusting myself outta sheer frustration, here.”

“It's okay. You don't have to do anything. I...maybe I wanna forget some stuff too. So...” She raised her drink in a salute and downed a sizable draught.

\-----------------------------------

Dawn raised her head triumphantly from the book she was huddled over.

“You guys, look! I think I have something, for reals!”

The others looked up slowly, rubbing their eyes. It had been a long night with little in the way of breakthroughs to liven things up. Giles had removed himself to his own room to better concentrate, and the others had been slowing down, discouraged.

Wilow had never even started looking into sea creatures, much more compelled by the revelations about Buffy's immunity to scientific magic, or whatever the heck the initiative's technology was. Or was that the technology's immunity to her? Or lack of immunity to her? Come to that, why had the chip ever worked on her—as the Slayer it seemed plausible that she would have been exempt from the beginning. Had she been? Had it ever actually been tested? But yes, of course it had—how could she forget. Buffy had told her about all the times Spike had tried to come after her...and look at them now! Thick as thieves! She, Willow, was Buffy's best friend, for years now. She was the one who had brought her back from the dead—back! From the dead! While Spike just moped around and cried... But the way Buffy acted, it was as if she were mad at her, Willow, for some reason. While she and Spike—well, she didn't even know how much they hung out, but it seemed like every patrol recap started and ended with, “me and Spike were walking along...” or “me and Spike were just sitting there when....”

“You guys!”

“Oh sorry Dawnie,” Tara said. “I think we all just got sucked into research daze. What time is it, anyway?”

“Who cares? I think I figured out what, who it is, what's stalking Buffy!”

They gathered around the book.

“What the—ugh! That's what Buffy saw? No wonder she forgot what it said, that'd burn words right out of my mind too.” Xander shuddered.

Anya headed for the stairs and yelled at the top of her lungs. “Giles! We found the serpent lady, now get down here and look at it so we can go home!”

He emerged a moment later, carrying his glasses, and took the book from Dawn.

“Tiamat...her children are varied in form and include scorpion men, merpeople...that would explain the disparate groupings working together! And the being that Buffy saw in her dream...oh dear. Hmm.”  
He looked up. “It does indeed seem that this is what we've been looking for. Thank you—Dawn? Good work. But isn't it...good lord! You should be at home in bed! You all go ahead, I'll look into this further...”

He headed back up the stairs abstractedly, muttering and flipping pages, looking concerned.

The rest of them exchanged looks and started gathering their things to leave.

 

\-------------------------------

Spike had had enough to drink to begin to enjoy himself a little. The suppressed rage engendered by his vulnerability was still there, simmering, and at some point tonight he was certainly planning on hurting a beastie of some kind, but he was now feeling relaxed enough to enjoy the spectacle of an adorably tipsy Slayer. They had been feeding quarters into the jukebox for hours and arguing laughingly about whose taste in music was worse, occasionally finding a happy point of overlap and pausing to sing and sway along together, the rest of the time trading light hearted insults and barbs.

Buffy had said that she was drinking to forget as well; but in fact she seemed happier than Spike had seen her since before all the worries of last year had descended upon them. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her, somehow. The alcohol just provided the final ingredient, leaving her practically giddy. Whatever he was feeling for himself, her lightness was infectious.

As he watched her across the table she cast about for a beer in the collection of bottles on their table—Willy's not being so much for the bussing service—and furrowed her brow in annoyance when she came up empty. He smirked at her pout and slid the whiskey her way.

“Here pet, drink up. Maybe we should move on anyway—getting late enough to go out and find some nasties to kill I reckon. How about it? You're game for a little hunting, aren't ya?”

“I do not hunt,” she informed him haughtily, holding the bottle up to the light unsteadily and peering through the liquid in his direction. “But I am ready to do my job, yes. We can bring this with us, and we'll go to the store by Skylawn for more. You can buy because I'm...they won't let me. And you're very old.”

“Yeah but it's not like I have an ID, is it? But sure, I'll get us some more, don't you worry about that. Let's go then...”

He followed her as she wove her way towards the door, tossing a few bills on the bar as he passed. The demon he had attacked earlier watched resentfully, but didn't interfere with their progress.

They came out of the door into a damp evening. A dense fog swirled through the streets lending an otherworldly feel to Sunnydale's boring downtown, and obscuring their view beyond a hundred yards or so in any direction. Buffy sniffed the air and spun in a circle, her arms extended.

“Mmmm,” she moaned, “cool misty goodness, this is nice! Oooh, dizzy. Okay Spike, let's go....” and looping her arm through his to steady herself, she took off at a quick pace. He let himself be pulled along, looking around idly, until suddenly—

“Hey! Slayer!”

She looked at him, confused. He put a finger to his lips and pointed. Ahead just a half a block or so, two figures were moving rapidly away from them. He could hear a faint squelching noise with each of their steps.

“Is it...” she started, but he had already begun moving rapidly towards them, with a predatory silence. She stayed still for a moment, seemingly mesmerized by the vision of Spike stalking ahead of her into the shadows. Then, coming to herself, she ran after him.

The demons ahead turned towards them. They weren't far away; he would be on them in a moment. He could see their strange tattered clothes, wet and oddly shiny, smell the brine that seemed to seep from their pores; they raised their arms as one and gestured. Suddenly, he felt a strange swimming sensation in his head, as if his feet were no longer touching the ground, and everything became dim. He cried out in anger—no! He just needed a bloody fair fight, just this once! His last conscious memories were of the bottle falling to the ground and breaking, and Buffy crying out, a light, surprised sound.


	10. Chapter 10

Buffy awoke groggy and disoriented. She looked around blearily, searching her mind for the why and how. Drinking with Spike...ugh. It was fun, though! But she did not feel good...and then, after the bar...she sat upright with a gasp, followed immediately by a moan and a grab at her woozy head. Ignoring her pounding temples and queasy tummy she swung her legs off the bed and got up, rushing into the first outfit she could scrounge up. She was pulling her hair into a ponytail, wishing she had time to wash out the crusty salt, and running down the stairs towards the door when Willow came out of the kitchen.

“Buffy, you're up! Hey there's some coffee in the kitchen, and guess what? We found your snaky dream demon...”

“Oh great, thanks Will,” Buffy said distractedly. “We kind of found some of the demons too—I gotta go check on Spike.”

“What for? It's daytime, he's fine.... Come on, come sit with me and let me tell you about her. It's really interesting! Her name is Tiamat and she's a pretty big deal....”

“No, I—they got us and I don't remember anything and I need to go make sure he's there, at his place, cause I don't know where else they'd have put him—oh my god, how did they get me here? Inside my house? This is...I gotta go figure this out!”

“They got you? Like the same kind of spell as they did on Spike the other night?”

“Yeah, I guess, I just woke up here, a minute ago, and I don't remember...Will, I don't remember anything!”

“Well let's figure out—come on, let's figure out the last thing you can recall...” Willow headed for the dining room to grab her computer, pausing when she saw that Buffy wasn't coming.

“Will, I need to go check Spike's crypt and see if he's there. We can do the big recap later at the meeting, okay?”

“Why?” demanded the redhead petulantly. “What's the rush, anyway? It's just Spike! He'll be fine! And who cares anyway, he's evil, remember? You can't spend ten minutes with me before you rush off to check up on your new best friend?”

Buffy stared at her, dismayed.

“Why? He's...Will he's...one of us. We were attacked! And he's not...I don't think he's evil, anymore, exactly. What is going on?”

“I just...I mean I never see you anymore...since—and you and Spike are always off doing whatever, and you know, I....never mind. I know you have to go check on him. I'll see you later.” She turned away and began straightening papers on the table.

Buffy stared at her bowed back for a minute and sighed.

“Look, I really do need to go check on him. And you know Spike and I—he helps me. But I'm sorry I haven't been...things have been...we'll talk later, okay? You and me?”

“Sure,” Willow said, not turning around.

Buffy rubbed her eyes and left, wishing she'd grabbed sunglasses on her way out.

She burst into Spike's crypt ten minutes later, and was dismayed not to see any sign of him. Oh no oh no oh no, she thought, what if they kept him this time, what if they did something awful to him...she looked around, remembering the lower level he had taken her to last year when...well, no point in thinking about that. Anyway, he said he had a bed, must be down there somewhere. She found the hole in the floor that led down and climbed down the rickety ladder carefully.

Below, it was dim, but there were a couple of electric lights burning, so she could see. She looked around, noting with surprise that it was nicer than she remembered it. She couldn't help a glance towards where her pictures had hung, the only time she'd been here before, but nothing remained of the altar. He had really been decorating; there were rugs, and wall hangings covering the dirt walls in many places, the lights.... Poking around, she found the alcove with his bed in it. A stab of fear shot through her; there was no one there! But a beat later, she saw him. In the half-light, his unnatural stillness had fooled her, but aside from the lack of breath he appeared to be sleeping normally. He was sprawled on his back, arms flung to the sides and pale chest exposed. A sheet was tangled around his lower half, but it appeared...she blushed and looked away, only to glance back nervously. Unbidden, memories of her dream flooded her head.

Now what? She had come here to check on him, and here he was...should she wake him? She thought of the last time she had been down here, the things he had said—this was awkward. Yet she couldn't seem to move her feet... Just then he stirred and breathed in. His eyes opened, not looking towards her immediately. She froze.

“Slayer...?” he murmured, seeing her.

“Um...” she gulped. “Sorry...I was... I didn't remember, and I thought you might be, that is, I didn't know what had happened and I was at home and you said they brought you here, before, and so—”

“Bloody hell!” he said, sitting up quickly. “Those buggering, ruddy bastards! Did they—are you okay? Did they hurt you? What happened?”

His sheet was slipping, but he seemed oblivious. She tried to ignore it too.

“I'm fine! Fine. Or well, I don't feel so great, but I don't know if that's...well that could maybe possibly be my fault.”

He smirked at her. “Feeling it a bit, are you pet? Not me I've got...oh god! I'm not puffy again am I?” He patted at himself furiously, and began trying to tame his curls.

Buffy found herself mesmerized by the play of muscles in his bare chest.

“I, uh—no you look, you're fine. Look can you—it's a little distracting—I'll just turn around.” she stuttered, and did.

“Finding me distracting, are you?” he smirked, raising an eyebrow in her direction, but he got up and began looking for clothes. She squeaked and covered her eyes.

“Look, I just came to make sure you were here...I should go, Willow's freaking out and oh! They said they found out who the demons are!”

He came around to where she stood and pulled her hands off her face.

“All safe now love, you can un-hide your blushing eyes. Found our demons did they? I'll just come along with you and hear all about it then. Got a bit of an interest in finding them myself now—don't much fancy being jerked around like a puppet and having god knows what done to me in my sleep, nor to them pulling this crap on you, pet. Can't wait to get my hands on these slimy buggers for real next time...”

“What—but you can't—it's daytime?”

“I got my ways, love. Tunnels and all that. Come on, come with me, I'll show you.” He was still holding her hands, she noticed. It felt good. Neither of them seemed to be moving. After a few silent moments he cleared his throat and moved away awkwardly.

“I'll just...lemme go upstairs for a mo, I'll grab some blood and we can be off, yeah?”

He went ahead of her; she trailed slowly behind, looking around the space again. It was...nice. Cave-like and cozy. She felt she could curl up down here and ignore the passage of time—if she'd seen this room last week, she thought, she'd never have left. But hangover or not, all that sleeping and hiding was over for good, she told herself sternly, so up she went. She stuck her head up through the hole in the floor to see Spike drinking cold blood with a look of distaste, and squinting rather a lot for someone who claimed hangover immunity.

“No need to come up,” he said, “I'm about ready to get on with it, and we'll go from down there.”

They strolled quietly through the sewers and access tunnels; it reminded Buffy of times with Angel. She hadn't come down here much since the days when they used to patrol together; Spike seemed happier topside, with her. She remembered Angel breaking up with her, down here, how it felt. Maybe that was why she didn't come here anymore.

How could it be true, what Spike said about him? Angel and Angelus were....they couldn't be more different, right? But if Spike were telling the truth about himself, if he really was different, then Angelus was just Angel himself, only....more so? But Angel wasn't like that! He wasn't! He would never do anything she didn't want him to.... Unwillingly, she flashed back to the sewer breakup. To Angel, her beloved, trusted Angel, telling her that he had decided what was best, that her life should be different and it was up to him to make sure it was, deaf to her pleas, her pain....

She thought of their recent meeting. He'd been so glad to see her, so happy that she was alive, he said. But. He wouldn't touch her, of course not; there was the curse to consider, and if they had done things in the past without it being a problem, well—it was a slippery slope, sure...she tried not to think about slippery things. But when he talked about things in LA nowadays, told her what he was doing, the little she was able to pry out of him—he just seemed so hard sometimes. So cold. He wouldn't say anything unless she pried and pried and then the things he did say....

It scared her, a little, sometimes, the look in his eye. He seemed...ruthless? But he wasn't, of course—he was just Angel. It was just her memory of Angelus—now that Angel wasn't around all the time, it was harder to forget about that. That was all. But sometimes it did seem that he didn't think the way she, Buffy did things—the way they had used to do things—was...well, it was almost like he looked down on it. They had their detective agency, and the Powers giving them directions, and here she was, just flailing about, her and her silly little friends making mistakes and messes...did he even respect that she was a Slayer anymore? The Slayer? But she really wasn't the Slayer any more to him, was she? Maybe not even his favorite....

It really was like they lived in different worlds. But what Spike said...was it possible that it wasn't because he was other, a demon? That it was just...that they weren't meant to be, that he hadn't loved her after all, just like Riley, like...all of them.

She thought about what Willow had said earlier. She was being ridiculous, of course—Buffy would just have to smooth things over, thank her for bringing her back, whatever she needed. But what she'd said about Spike and her...well, he was a friend. It was true. And the more she looked at it, the more she could see what a good one he had been to her, even when she was awful to him, even for nothing in return. She looked at him speculatively.

“What?” he said crossly, pulling deeply on a cigarette.

“Anyone ever tell you that's a filthy habit and you smell gross?” she asked.

He scowled at her, but she noticed that he tossed it underfoot just a few steps later, even though it was only half gone.

When they made it into Buffy's house, after she went ahead to hold the door open so Spike could come running across the lawn with his coat held over his head, and after he was done cursing and stamping and brushing the smoking bits of himself into submission, they found Willow and Tara in the living room surrounded by herbs, a variety of magical looking objects, and books.

They looked up, unsurprised, and watched until the new arrivals had settled down and come in to the room, where Tara had thoughtfully drawn the blinds. Buffy checked Willow out surreptitiously to see if she was still mad, but she seemed normal.

“We've been waiting for you two,” she said. “I have a plan! We did that spell the other day to visualize the demons, and that worked really well, and I figured out how we can use that to find out what happened while you were—when they wiped your memory last night.”

“Uh-uh, no way are you going messing about in this noggin. I'm not the bloody bot, to be poked and prodded and reprogrammed! Plenty of that already going on in there, if you follow me.”

Willow frowned. “Well, we need to find out what's going on. And they've done something to you twice now, don't you want to know what? They're the ones messing around and doing whatever they want in there—I just want to find out what!”

Tara intervened before Spike could reply, seeing him looking very upset. “No, he's right. He shouldn't have to; after what Glory did to me I...I think I understand how he feels, a little, about the chip and everything. I mean, not really! But a little...and if we can see, from Buffy, it might be enough, to find out what they want.”

He looked at her gratefully, then noticed Buffy didn't look too happy.

“You don't have to do this either—we'll find another way, you lot always find something....”

Willow cut in before Buffy could reply, glaring at Spike. “There's no reason for her to not want to do it, we did this before and it was fine. Buffy trusts me, because we're friends, and she knows I wouldn't even bring it up if it wasn't completely safe!”

“Well, it doesn't have to be about safety...” Tara began, but Buffy spoke up.

“It's okay Tara. It's fine. I don't mind, really. I'm sure you'll do great, Willow. Thanks for coming up with this. It's really, you know, helpful of you.”

Spike looked at her, outraged. “But you said before—”

“I said, it's fine! Now let's get on with it already. Spike, just...just be quiet.”

Willow looked happy again, and shot a triumphant look at Spike. “Okay, well I modified it some, so instead of—well, it's mostly the same. We see where you've been, pretty much, same as before. But instead of just showing what you saw, visually, it shows the reality of it, sort of an essence? So that we can see where you were even if you were unconscious, basically. I'll do the actual spell, same as last time; Tara will hold the circle and focus the energies. So, come sit over here...”

Willow smiled. She didn't need to get in Spike's head anyway—this was what really mattered. She could find out what this Tiamat was up to, and save the day, and find out what they needed to know about Buffy's...absence...besides, giving Willow what she needed to fix her right up. She would put everything right, Buffy would be happy again, Spike's chip would work on her and she wouldn't have to worry about him hurting her, and everything would be better.

She knew for certain now, because of Spike, and the chip, that what she had suspected was correct; that Buffy had come back wrong—but only a little bit! She hadn't told anyone it was a possibility, and they didn't need to know about it now, because she would just tweak things a bit and then the spell to bring Buffy back would be finished. She had worked this spell out, originally, based on Anya's suggestion that if they could see the resurrection spell they would know what they needed to be able to, maybe, deduce where Buffy had been. But now she would be able to put it to a so much more efficient use! She was very pleased with how tidily things were coming together. She almost wanted to tell someone, but there was no need for that—they wouldn't get it. Easier this way.

Buffy sat in the circle staring at the crystal again, but she felt more agitated this time, less able to focus. She had had to do this, for Willow; and it was fine, really, it was. If she felt a little squicky—well, she'd get over it. And they really did need to know what was going on—having demons running around kidnapping any of them, whenever they felt like it? Not acceptable. She tried again to clear her mind. An annoyingly persistent image of a shirtless, sleeping Spike appeared, his face soft and vulnerable in sleep. She stared harder at the crystal.

“Um, Buffy?” Tara spoke quietly, “are you okay? Your energy is a little, um, zingy, sort of? Maybe you're not quite ready?”

“No! No, I'm fine. Okay, here we go...” She drew deep breaths and let her mind clear.

Again, she was in the empty room. It was quiet, peaceful. She was in the mist, floating. She felt at ease, happy...suddenly there was a tearing, pain! She was struggling to breathe. Everything was dark, there was no sense of up or down, her head was spinning. She tried over and over to breathe in, but her chest was constricted, on fire, she was suffocating! Just as the panic overwhelmed her and she began to black out, she was back in the white room. She had no body; she reflexively continued to attempt to breathe but could not because there was no need to breathe. She cast about with her mind, feeling adrift and frightened, and suddenly was back in her house, in the circle.

She gasped, all her Slayer senses blaring alarms, and instinctively jumped into a crouch and assessed her surroundings; but the scene was calm, unexceptional. Tara was humming over a brazier, and Wilow was just lowering her hands and opening her eyes. Spike had sprung to his feet, at the ready and looking to her, but she just looked back in confusion, as the pounding of her heart began to slow.

Willow's eyes opened and fixed on Buffy, eyes wide with dismay. She stood quickly, swaying a bit and looked from Buffy to Spike, then back.

“I...I just need a minute,” she stuttered, and rushed out of the room.

Tara took Buffy's hands as the slayer dropped out of her crouch and back to the floor, confused.

“I'm sorry. I felt that..that whatever happened was...i-it was bad, wasn't it? I hope you didn't have to relive it. We'll get them, these monsters. I know it's hard, but we know what they are now, and we'll know soon what they can do, and we'll get them. I...it must have been really hard for Willow, to experience it fully through your memory—I need to go check on her—will you be all right?”

She looked imploringly at Spike, who stepped to Buffy's side at once. “I got her,” he said, “you go on and take care of Red.”

As she hurried after her girlfriend, he took Buffy's arm and pulled her up off the floor. They settled on the couch.

“So the demons aren't so harmless after all, huh?” he murmured. “Knew you shouldn't have let them in there, digging stuff up you're better off not knowing...serves her right if it was hard for her! Was it bad, Slayer? You all right?” He kept his voice calm, but his eyes were fearful, and fierce.

She looked back at him, at his concern, and managed a little smile. “No...or yes, it was kind of bad, but I don't think...Spike, I don't think that had anything to do with last night. I don't know what the hell it was, and Willow wasn't—I don't know what she saw. Not the same thing I did, I think. It's okay though. I'm fine. I really am.” A little to her surprise, she realized this was true—she really did feel okay. It had been unpleasant, and she maybe didn't want to do that anymore, but she was fine. Better than fine!

“I'm hungry,” she announced. “Come on, let's make some breakfast! You like people food, you can help. I want to eat two breakfasts, at least, I'm starving....we might even have some blood in here, Dawn usually keeps up with that, for you, right? And Tara and Will will be hungry too...ha ha, will will....”

Her voice trailed off as she strode energetically into the kitchen. He stared after her in bemusement for a moment, then smiled and followed.


	11. Chapter 11

Willow needed time. She needed to get her thoughts in order, to understand the implications of what she had just seen. It had worked, she'd gotten what she needed, but oh.... It wasn't what she thought it would be. Wasn't that always the way? Sometimes she just hated the world—why couldn't things just be tidy, make sense? Buffy died; bad. She, Willow, brought her back; good. Something was still wrong—so she would find out what and make it right. Simple, and obvious. When things weren't right, you fixed them, everyone knew that. But how could she fix this? Buffy had been happy, had been in heaven. Buffy hadn't wanted to come back. But how could that be? No one wanted to be dead, that was just against the natural order of things!

No. For a moment, seeing the resurrection from Buffy's point of view, she had been shaken. She had believed that maybe, just maybe, they had made...a mistake? But no. They had done the right thing. Sure, they should have realized her body was still buried, but that was just a, a detail—all in all, they had done well! Buffy should never have died, she had set that right. But it wasn't right that Buffy had to bear the burden of returning from heaven, of the traumatic return. If only there was a way for her to retain the happy memory without the pain of having it taken from her...hmmm. She would figure it out. Now that she knew what she was dealing with, she would be able to figure out what to do. But it would have to be alone; she could bear this burden for the others, they need never know. She would fix it for everyone.

She returned Tara's squeeze and turned to her, smiled.

“Don't worry baby, I'm okay now,” she reassured her girlfriend. Suddenly she had a thought. “Is Buffy okay? Did she, uh, say anything? Does she remember anything?”

“I don't know,” Tara answered. “She seemed pretty freaked, but Spike was with her. You know, do you think they're actually kind of good for each other in a weird way? I mean, obviously she's good for him, but I think he really helps her... It seems like maybe she's doing better, you know? Have you noticed?”

Willow frowned forbiddingly.

“I, uh...well, a-anyway the thing with the, with Tiamat is pretty bad then? Should we...well, we should tell them...?” Tara trailed off in the face of Willow's unreceptive look. “I mean...if you're ready. I know it must have been awful for you—to have to relive it. Was it very... do you think you can talk about it?”

“Oh! Yeah,” said Willow, refocusing. “No, it wasn't at all bad, we should tell them. And Giles. No, it was just...the spell was, I, uh, it was harder than I thought to keep up and it, I felt, um, you know what? I'm fine. Let's go tell them.”

Tara watched as Willow bustled off down the stairs. She followed slowly, thinking hard.

The witches found Buffy and Spike in the kitchen, chatting and laughing. She was mixing pancake batter and talking a mile a minute about something that involved a lot of jabbing and thrusting with the spatula, resulting in flecks of batter all over both of them and the kitchen; he was watching her, laughing along, but mostly looking besotted, and occasionally licking a droplet of batter off his sleeve or hand, while sipping heated blood.

They looked up as Willow and Tara came in.

“Will, are you okay?” Buffy asked, becoming serious. “Is it bad news? What was that—I felt—it was pretty intense. Was it the same for you?”

“Um, no...sort of...you felt echoes of...well, everything's fine. They didn't do anything to you. Sorry the spell did that though, I was surprised too. I'll work on it more though! No more surprise trauma drama! I'll add something, make it like when you get novocaine for the dentist...”

“Well, we won't need it again,” said Buffy firmly. “I've had it. These fish's times is...are up! As soon as I can figure out how to find them, fight them in the water, what they want.....” she trailed off.

“Back up, Red,” Spike interjected. “What do you mean, they didn't do anything? Are you saying someone else did this? Cause that seems bloody unlikely, you ask me...”

“No, I mean they didn't do anything. They just knocked you out with some kind of mind influencing spell, and then they...well, put Buffy to bed. You, I don't know about, because we didn't do the spell—”

“And we're bloody well not going to!”

“Yeah Spike I get it, no spell for you! Like I want to go in your head anyway, I'd ever want to see all...all that....” Willow snapped. “What? He's evil! With the raping and pillaging...never mind. Anyway, they didn't do anything. Which, hey, is really weird. We should call Giles, right?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy felt good. She had eaten, cleaned, showered and changed. She didn't feel hungover anymore, and things were...looking up? Whatever. The important thing was that she felt okay, and who knew how long it might last, so it was a time to be action girl and get this situation under control so she could fix the rest of her life and move on.

She loped down the stairs and into the living room, where the blinds were drawn and Spike was happily watching TV in the gloom, his boots on the coffee table.

“Rise and shine!” she called, flipping off the television and planting herself in front of him. “Time to get to work, partner.”

“Oi! It's daytime, which is my time to sleep and watch my shows. I get to work at sundown—if then—so leave me out of this! I've had a very trying day you know, having my melon rescrambled by who knows what, dumped in my bed like one of those alien probe folks, anything could have happened to me...turn that back on now, won't you pet?”

“Oh please, nothing happened to you, you were not probed, they just tucked you in all nice and cozy. They even took your shoes off!” And some other things, chimed Buffy's traitorous mind. Shhh, she told it. “Now come on. We're taking the tunnels to the magic shop to train.”

“Go right ahead doll, you don't need me for that. I'll be along at about 7:45. Now be a love, and turn my show back on.”

“You're coming. We're sparring. Come on.”

“You know I...can't...oh too bloody brilliant! Right! Let's go then,” and he hopped to his feet enthusiastically and grabbed his coat. “What are we waiting for? This is bleedin spectacular!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They squared off on the mats. Buffy bounced on her toes a bit, impatient, but Spike was wary. It had been so difficult to adjust to the chip, but now it seemed he'd gotten accustomed to it. Additionally, he and Buffy hadn't fought since the early days of his obsession with her. Now, as much as he anticipated this, it felt a bit...well, wrong. He wasn't sure he knew how to fight someone he didn't actually want to hurt—he'd never had occasion to try it before.

But the idea of fighting her again...he was hard just thinking about it, had been since the moment he realized it was possible, that there was nothing to stop them doing this every day. And she'd brought it up! She had asked him! It was the second best thing he could possibly imagine. He was savoring the moment, that was all.

“Spike come on! What are you doing?”

Sick of waiting, Buffy moved in to strike. He blocked her punch, and they were off, the knowledge of each other's patterns and weaknesses returning as if no time had passed and his reluctance evaporating like mist. This was right, this was what he loved, where he belonged. Fighting with Buffy was incredible, incomparable. This what what had kept him in Sunnydale all that time, when he should have left, gone anywhere else. This made last night's still raw ordeal, having to accept the chip all over again, fade away, soothing the sting till he could barely remember to care. At least this was allowed, unpunished. This was so good it just might be enough.

The way Buffy fought—hell, it was what he loved maybe the most about her, the way she danced around him like a dervish, graceful and deadly. The chip had made him something less, had made him almost William again; but this, going up against Buffy, made him himself again. Like who he should be, should have been all those years; now he was all he'd become over the century of reckless nihilism, with just a little tiny bit of William's less poncey qualities let back in besides. Nothing overboard—just a touch of the human side that had never fully left him anyway, the better to understand and find his footing in this human crowd he seemed to have thrown in with, for good or ill. But it was confusing, and the ground never felt solid beneath him as he tried to walk a line that he couldn't see, didn't understand, and this. This was easy, and fun and glorious. This was where he belonged, could be himself, all his selves.

They struck, parried and wrestled, neither able to land the decisive blow, or caring, just as long as they could keep doing this. Spike discarded his jacket, and they both tossed their shoes towards the wall to offer more freedom. Buffy's face was wet with sweat and she was breathing hard, but she egged him on every time he seemed to be pulling back, a look of fierce joy on her face. He grinned, feeling free and unencumbered. It was the best thing he'd felt in years.

They fought all out, and he stopped worrying, trying his damnedest to land the blows. She was letting herself go too, really flying around the room. It was bloody spectacular! If only we were outside, he thought; or somewhere we could just tear to bits. The back of the magic box was roomy, but playing like this; they could cover blocks, just running and rolling and tumbling! From the look on her face, she was loving it as much as he did. He could hardly contain the happiness he felt, seeing her looking so free and happy and alive, on top of the pure selfish pleasure of this. Of getting to do this.

At last, after she got in a particularly well-aimed kick that threw him backwards, he roared and vamped out, flinging himself across the mats to tackle her.

She allowed him to land on top of her, going limp with happy laughter.

“Oh no,” she cried, “Oh, please spare me! You're so evil and terrifying...” she trailed off, laughing too hard to continue.

Spike released her and rolled to lie on his side. “Not nice to laugh at a bloke, you know, love,” he pouted, but his grin broke through at once. “Some people have found me frightening in my time. You think I'm your kitten now, is that it?”

She was still giggling at the sight of him pouting while vamped out, but turned to look at him seriously.

“I don't think you're a kitten, Spike,” she said, gazing at him. “I think...”

“What do you think?” he growled. He was looking at her intently, perfectly still. They were still lying close together, and suddenly, Buffy thought, the voices in the front of the store felt very far away.

She thought about her revelations that morning, about what a good friend Spike had been to her. She thought about Spike telling her he loved her, time and again, and her throwing it back in his face. He had been there for her, for Dawn; she couldn't take advantage of that on a whim. It would be wrong.

His vamp face had slid back off now, and he was looking at her with a quizzical look in his eyes, head cocked slightly to the side as if he were trying to read her thoughts. She had been silent too long, it was time to answer him; but she found her eyes drawn against her will to his slightly parted lips. She needed to get away from him, to end this. What was she thinking?

“Spike...” she said. It came out very quiet.

He leaned closer, until they were only a breath apart, and spoke in a deep, soft whisper she had never heard before. “What do you want, love?”

The tone in his voice sent shivers down her body, weakened her.

“I, uh...” she was having a hard time catching her breath, or looking away. It was as if there was a magnetic pull from him to her hands; she could almost feel her hand reaching out to touch his cheek, to run her fingers down the line of his throat and over his chest....

“I don't...we should go out front!” She jumped up and applied herself to gathering her things with zeal, keeping her gaze resolutely turned away from him.

He flopped onto his back and gripped his head, staying silent only with a struggle involving gritting his teeth furiously and gripping his hair in both fists until it felt like he was going to pull it out. He took several unneeded breaths and willed himself to relax. It didn't work. When she breezed out without looking around, saying she would see him out there in a minute he remained in place for a few minutes, willing his fists to unclench. Good god, but she would be the death of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy hurried into the front room, her breathing unsteady. Woah. She really needed to get herself under control. These lusty thoughts were seriously out of hand, and that was bad enough, but actually almost acting on them? What was wrong with her? It might seem harmless to her, but it wasn't. It wouldn't be right to do that to Spike, and it would just mess everything up. Things were good how they were. She just needed to stop thinking about his lips and chest and hands, and everything would be fine. She pictured his muscular forearms pinning her hands to the mat, the fine hairs glinting against his pale skin as he held himself over her, almost touching....

“Buffy? Are you all right?” Giles was looking at her oddly.

“Huh? Oh! Yeah, fine, I was just...thinking...about monsters! I mean, what to do about the sea monsters!”

“Have you had any ideas?” he asked. “Because I must admit, that as helpful as it is to know what we're dealing with, I'm at a bit of a loss as to what to do about it. If I could just figure out what had brought them here....”

“No,” she pouted. “Big fat nothing. They kidnapped us to do...nothing! Who does that? I have no idea what's going on or what to do about it. Why are you asking me anyway? You're supposed to tell me!”

“Yes, well, I just hoped you might have some... Well frankly, I have nothing.” He set down the book with a rueful smile.

“Maybe we should go over the dream again...” Buffy knitted her brow trying to concentrate. Spike came in and threw himself on the stairs with a cigarette, earning a dirty look from Giles. He watched curiously as Buffy continued to stare fixedly off into space. After a few minutes she sighed in frustration and dropped her head into her hands.

“Oh, it's useless. I don't know anything more, they probably wiped things I knew before out along with last night. If this keeps happening I'll be a vegetable by Halloween...”

“Well, don't try to fight it, Buffy,” Giles advised. “It'll come back to you in it's own— ”

“That's it,” she cried, her head flying back up. “that's what she said, I remember!”

“What's it?” Anya had wandered over, having closed the door behind the last customer of the evening. “Did you solve the oceanic invasion?”

“No, I—Giles, I remember what she said. She said 'Don't fight us' and then she told me to wake up.”

“Those were her exact words? 'Don't fight us?' Are you certain?”

“Yes. Why? Does it mean something? Cause, I'm going to fight them! If they think they can scare me off that easily, they really don't know what they're in for!”

“No, no—or rather I don't know, but it's very interesting...”

Spike stood up restlessly. “Well this is fun,” he said sarcastically, “but I think I'll go find me a sea creature to beat up for information, thanks very much. Somehow I don't feel inclined to take some advice they can't even deliver to someone awake.”

He swept out through the back, leaving Buffy feeling a little rejected. They didn't always have to patrol together, sure, but it was what they usually did. Was he mad at her? With a sigh, she resigned herself to doing the research, and turned resolutely to Giles for instruction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike strode down the alley, determined to put some distance between himself and Buffy before he did something stupid. He had enough, all he could ask for and more. Things could be so much worse, he could have so much less, and if he fucked up now he would. Until Buffy, he hadn't had to access his ability to wait, to be patient, since the nearly forgotten days when he was human. He had merely taken what he wanted, when he wanted. He sighed nostalgically, and lit a cigarette.

Nonetheless, patience was needed now. He would not do something stupid this time, for once, maybe the first time. Maybe he'd never managed restraint before because it had never mattered so much as this. He could do this. He would not find himself exiled from Buffy's life, not again, when he'd finally—what? Found what he had always lacked, wanted.... He didn't need more. It was enough to take the scraps. He just needed to remind himself of that from time to time, to stop wanting things he wasn't meant to have. And so he would, he just needed a little time away. Just the night! Not much.

As he began to round the corner towards the front of the store, he stopped short and pulled back around the corner. Across from the front door to the Magic Box was a lone creature, dressed in dark, shiny rags, and dripping saltwater onto the pavement, as it stood quietly, seemingly watching the store.


	12. Chapter 12

Buffy hung up the phone. “Okay,” she whispered, “Willow and Tara are on their way. They'll try to sneak up on it; they want us to sit tight and not do anything out of the ordinary, in case it tips the demon off.”

She returned to the table, pouting. “I hate not doing anything. This sucks.”

Giles was still, in theory, researching, but he seemed to be physically restraining himself from going to the store windows to see the spy firsthand. Anya, meanwhile, was unfazed by developments, and efficiently working her way through the usual closing time tasks.

Spike sat on the stairs as if he'd never left, but calmer than when he had stormed out only a few minutes before. He was glad to have something to focus on, even if it was a situation that demanded him to merely sit and be patient. He laughed inwardly at the irony of it all. Well, I guess I can get a little extra practice being patient right away, he thought. Lucky me. A two-fer. Buffy had yet to meet his eyes, flushing and looking elsewhere when he had come back in with the news of their uninvited guest.

He fidgeted, and began searching his pockets for a deck of cards, dice, anything to distract him from what had almost happened in the back room, as now that he was back in Buffy's presence he found he could think of nothing else. What had almost happened? Was he just seeing what he wanted to, or had that really happened? Was waiting the best idea; what if it just gave her time to talk herself out of it? Sod it all, he was bullocks at this! They should be fighting, sparring, then shagging! All this, the waiting and guesswork, it just made him want to tear into something, to grab her and take her...

He jumped to his feet and began pacing, stamping his feet obnoxiously. Giles glared but didn't speak. Buffy gave him a confused look, then apparently remembered she was avoiding him and glued her eyes to a book. As if! Spike scoffed to himself. He'd be surprised if she even knew what book she was staring at.

There was a noise outside and they all tensed, even Anya stopping what she was doing for a moment.

“Oh,” she said brightly, “is it time? Too bad we can't go look out the window for fear of tipping them off, anything could be happening out there!”

Buffy and Giles looked nearly as frustrated by this understatement as Spike felt. Time seemed to slow to a faint crawl as they sat tensely attuned to any sound from outside.

“Spike, do you hear anything?” Buffy whispered.

“No,” he replied shortly, straining to extend his senses and longing to just go out the damn door and try to grab the bastard. That hadn't worked so well before, true, but his inability to touch these newcomers was making him feel crackers.

After nearly twenty minutes that passed like hours, the door opened. They all sprang up and faced the front, where Willow and Tara were coming in triumphantly towing a dripping, sodden figure.

“Oh you did it! And you're awake! Oh, but what if—is it going to hex us and erase our memories? What do we do?” Buffy asked anxiously.

“No it's okay, we've bound it. It can't do any magic, it's like it's in a, a bubble, with clear walls, but that magic can't get through, but you can hear and stuff, though it doesn't seem to talk, or have ears maybe so I don't know how useful that is....” Willow's babbling trailed off. Tara was gently seating the creature in a chair, looking concerned.

It was a bit smaller than the humans in the room, and rounder, yet roughly human shaped. The similarities ended there, however. Its skin was very pale with a grayish cast and a faint sheen, and its face was flat and unreadable, with small eyes and large gills running from the ear area across the 'cheeks'. It was draped awkwardly in sheets of seaweed as if it was emulating human clothing clumsily, and like the demon Buffy had killed, it seemed to be so saturated with water that it dripped from its pores. Anya had taken note of this, and was currently arranging towels around and under the chair, looking annoyed.

For all its difference, there was something that made it hard not to ascribe human feelings to it. It was a fishlike creature, of course it wasn't possible to interpret its behavior through the familiar lens of human interactions, but there was something about the way it sat, hunched, and looked around at them standing above it, eyes darting quickly between them, that made it almost impossible not to feel that it was frightened, and to pity it. Buffy steeled herself and thought about these creatures lurking outside the house where her little sister currently slept (or ought to be sleeping, anyway). Tara seemed to have fully succumbed to feelings of sympathy, however, and was sitting very near to the prisoner, looking protective.

“If it can't talk or hear how in the sodding hell are we supposed to find out what it's up to?” Spike demanded from the stairs. He had elected to maintain his distance from the table and the demon.

Giles was gazing curiously at it, and responded slowly. “I've been considering the matter of communication since we first saw the, ah, Buffy's memory—”

“Cause of my spell,” Willow said excitedly.

Giles looked at her as if he wanted to say something, but turned away and continued. “Yes. Anyway, I believe—and after hearing of Buffy's dream, am convinced—that they communicate psychically. This makes sense underwater, where sound is effected and distorted, and vision is often impeded as well, if not by the distortions of the water than by the darkness of the depths. Many sea creatures develop lights, phosphorescence, but this is an even more advanced adaptation....”

“Giles! Really don't care. I'm not psychic, so how do I talk to this thing?” Buffy demanded.

“Ah, right. Yes.” Giles sighed and removed his glasses. “I don't have the slightest idea. It's possible that it could communicate with us if it chose, but perhaps not. And it may not choose to try. I had not thought to find ourselves in this situation.”

They all looked at one another, stumped. The creature cringed and shrank into its chair; Tara patted it soothingly. It didn't appear to be comforted.

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“I'm not saying I don't have it in for these blokes after all they've done, but I don't envy that poor sod. I know just what it's like and I wouldn't wish that on too many folks. Never been much for the torture, myself. It just isn't right.”

“Oh, Spike, stop being so dramatic. Torture! We could've killed it, well, if Tara would've let us, or lots worse. What else were we supposed to do, let it go? It's in a nice comfy tub with plenty of water. Comforts of home!”

“I've been chained in that tub, Slayer, and comfy and homey it is not. Like I said, I wouldn't wish it on most anyone. I just don't know about all this...”

“Well what should we have done? Willow and Tara tried everything to get through to it, and Giles doesn't know...I didn't see you having any better ideas!” she shot back defensively.

He lit his cigarette and pulled in on it slowly, not answering right away. Buffy walked about, poking at a vine here, a brick there, fidgeting a circuit around Giles' small courtyard, and finally circling back to where Spike stood and leaning on a nearby iron patio chair.

“What do you reckon will happen now, then?” he eventually asked. “Think its mates'll just not notice and forget all about it?”

“No, I think they'll come looking for it. Which is why one of us should stay here and keep an eye on things.”

“I'm sticking with you. If this lot come after us, you'll need me.”

“No. I need you with Dawn. And anyway, you and me aren't so useful against the fishy folk, in case you haven't noticed. Tara wants to stay here with her new friend, plus she's gonna keep working on the no-talking problem; Willow will go with you. They'll be in charge of keeping us awake and fighty.”

“I don't like it. Splitting up, not being able to fight them...”

“I don't either.”

They remained in silence for a bit. Buffy looked at the stars through the haze of cigarette smoke, enjoying the twinkle. Despite what she sometimes said to Spike, she actually had come to find the smoke smell that clung to him oddly comforting, she realized. She didn't like it when other people smelled like cigarettes, though, so maybe it was just...Spike. She was very aware of him standing at her side, close enough to touch. She told herself it was just her Slayer senses that caused the hum she felt in her gut when he was close, but she knew she'd never felt this tingle for any of the many vamps she'd been as close to, or closer, doing her job. This was different; not the screaming jangle of warning racing through her nerve endings, but a low, constant charge; impossible to ignore, but pleasant. It made her feel a little more awake, more aware of everything. It made her want to touch him, to feel it more, stronger, to be surrounded in it, to feel it wash over her, to nuzzle in his coat and stay there, to feel the zing of their bare flesh coming together....

She breathed in sharply and looked away, wide eyed and embarrassed. This had to stop. She could do this thing, this coming back to life, on her own, she didn't need to use Spike as a, a toy just to feel things. Well, no, she couldn't do it on her own; she did need Spike; but as a friend. It wasn't fair to him to even consider these...other things. Which she was not considering. She was over the idea that she should try to do this without him; she could see now that he was a good friend to her; but all the more reason to control herself. He loved her, he had put these ideas in her head—but she had the soul, she needed to be the responsible one of them, and she knew this was out of the question. She was only having these thoughts because he was...well, fine, so he was attractive, and they did spend a lot of time together! And it wasn't like she was out meeting other guys! But no way.

Buffy looked up to find the vampire in question looking down at her with an eyebrow raised and she flushed, grateful for the darkness.

“Um, so anyway,” she began, not sure what she was going to say but prepared to babble as much as she needed to to distract herself from that very not-okay train of thought.

Spike tossed his cigarette butt and moved towards her, causing her to squeak in alarm.

“Spike! What are you...?” she stopped talking, suddenly short of breath. He pulled her to her feet, and there he was, standing in front of her, a whisper of space separating them. He moved his strong hands to hold her biceps.

“Buffy,” he said quietly, his voice deeper and huskier than usual in the pre-dawn quiet. “Stop trying to talk yourself around in circles, love. There's nothing wrong with feeling the way you do, and there's nothing wrong with acting on it. You're thinking too much, is what your problem is. Just stop. No! Shh...”

And as she struggled to catch her breath, to speak, he slowly, carefully lowered his lips to touch hers, feather light and gentle. Her last thought was that he was wrong about her thinking too much; she couldn't think at all. And then her eyes drifted closed and she was nothing but sensation and longing. His mouth caressed hers with excruciating gentleness as his hands glided oh so slowly up her shoulders and neck and under her hair, igniting sparks everywhere he touched. She wanted to crush him to her, to bite his soft, pliant lips, but the tingles suffused her being with a warmth and languor until she could barely stand, couldn't feel anything beyond his touch, his presence. She moaned and drew closer, closer, pressing him to her.

She felt him gasp against her mouth, and his kiss deepened, grew more demanding. Strong hands fisted in her hair and she mewled in satisfaction, grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling him still nearer. Somewhere far away she heard her own voice asking her what she was doing, wondering if maybe she should stop, but she shut it out. No. This was life, was living. This was what she wanted, needed, and it felt so right. God, it felt right!

He was panting now, and when she shoved him roughly against the wall he swallowed a harsh moan. Encouraged by his responsiveness she pushed into him and grabbed his shoulders, pinning him in place, continuing to nip and suck at his mouth. He let her have her way with him, but kept his hands on her, running up and down her back, tangling in her hair, then squeezing her bottom. She could feel his hard length against her and pressed herself against him, hard, again and again, moving her mouth down to his jawline and throat. She felt like a flame was burning low in her, spreading the warmth until she could feel it all the way out to her fingers. He encouraged her with rough cries, clutching at her desperately, until he suddenly became still. His hands held her in place as he froze, burying his face in her hair.

She was confused, and looked around, only coming partially out of her haze at the sight of light spilling out into the courtyard from Giles' open door. Tara was silhouetted in the middle of it, looking out, dazzled from being inside and unable to see into the dark.

“Buffy?” she asked softly, “Spike? Are you out here?”

Buffy simply breathed, burrowing deeper into Spike's shirt. Realizing she wasn't going to say anything, Spike raised his head and spoke, quietly.

“Yeah we're—” he had to clear his throat. “We're here. Be in in a flash, right?”

“Okay.” Tara closed the door softly.

Spike pulled back and tried to pull Buffy away so he could look at her, but she kept her face down and clutched him more tightly, still not speaking.

“Hey. Hey, come on love, come on out of there. We have to—we should probably talk about this, yeah? Hey, you can't stay there forever, you know, Slayer.” He continued to gently try to pry her back from him, and finally she let him make enough space between them that he could look down at her, though her hands still clutched fistfuls of his shirt.

He couldn't tell what was in her eyes. Was she angry? Ashamed? Disgusted? The longer they didn't speak, the more uncertain he felt. Had he made a terrible mistake? His instinct, his reckless nature had taken over, he hadn't even thought, just gone ahead—and she had responded, as he'd known she would. He felt confident that she wanted this, but maybe he should have waited longer, given her more time to come to terms with the idea. He'd intended to, was set on it, but it had seemed suddenly that he shouldn't, and he'd simply done what felt right without thinking. Just like always, he thought bitterly. If I haven't learned yet...well, I guess I never will. Stupid, stupid Spike, always blundering in....

Just a few days before now her head had been so spun by Angel that she'd tried to get rid of him completely. But he had thought that had been the catalyst she'd needed to realize that she—what? Had feelings for him? He was probably deluding himself that those feelings were more than lust. He began to think he should find a way to make things right and set about trying to untangle himself from her grasp, pulling away from her hands and trying to sidle out from where she still stood, pinning him between her body and the wall.

Finally she spoke. “What are you doing?”

“Going to talk to the witches. Looks like they're ready, and if I'm to make it to the Bit's side before dawn, I'd better get going,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “Sorry about...well, sorry. Didn't mean anything by it. Shouldn'ta done it. Sorry pet. It'll be forgotten, don't you worry about that,” he muttered, hating himself even as he did. Like hell—he wasn't sorry, and he'd never forget! And what's more, neither would she! She wanted it, he knew it, why couldn't she just admit it and get over it already? Hadn't he done enough? How many times did he have to prove himself before she stopped thinking he was worthless scum?

By the time he'd gotten out and away from her he was well on his way to being truly enraged, at her, at himself, at the soldiers who had chipped him—so he was momentarily thrown off by her soft hand reaching out for him.

“Wait,” she said, but he turned away and headed for the door. This could wait, he didn't want to hear it right now, that this was a mistake, she couldn't be with him, he was a soulless monster, she was really sorry though!, blah blah blah. He got angrier just thinking about it.

Buffy watched him disappear through the door, still a little dazed, and uncertain what had just happened. She didn't feel ready to face the others, but she supposed she had to now; they'd be wondering what had happened to her. What had happened to her, she wondered. Was this her, feeling this way? It was so different than anything she'd experienced before... maybe this was for the best. She needed time to make sense of this.


	13. Chapter 13

Spike strode ahead of Willow as they headed back to Revello Drive, hoping to avoid talking so he could replay the moments with Buffy. Now he wasn't so sure that he'd done the right thing by leaving—what if kissing her had been the right thing? Should he have stayed, did she want him to? This was driving him mad.

But they had kissed, and more. Buffy, the Slayer, had kissed him, Spike, William the Bloody. (Well, kissed him back anyway.) This was major, this was historic, this... he had never given up—it wasn't in his nature to admit defeat, but he had never really, fully believed that there was the slightest chance of this. Then, when she'd died, he'd surrendered even the tiny spark of hope that still smoldered, neglected and ignored, hidden deep inside. He had truly let go of the idea that this thing, the thing he wanted more than he had ever wanted anything in his long and storied afterlife, would ever come to pass. He had pulled out the hope, the spark, had acknowledged it, and had buried it, mourning it like a loved one, letting it go. And when Buffy came back, it was gone—he loved her still, and that was unchanged—but he had given up trying, and was ready to merely accept what was. Or so he thought.

But then she had seemed—and now this had happened. And in that moment, when their lips touched, when she pulled him toward her, it was as if he came back to life, just for those few minutes when she held him. As if her warmth had invaded, spread, and revived all the long-dead corners of him. Dormant dreams had no hope of staying dead—they had all flared to life with a vengeance. And now... all he could think of was what to do next. He had made a mistake—the more he thought about it the more sure he was. He shouldn't have left her alone, he should be there with her, keeping her calm. She would freak, she would stress, she would make promises to herself—and he wasn't there to talk her out of it!

Willow hadn't noticed his anti-social mood. She was full of ideas on how to get through to the fishy captive and wanted him to comment on all of them. He finally gave up and slowed down to pretend to listen. Maybe he needed the distraction anyway.

As he walked beside her, despite himself, he gradually found he was actually listening.

“Woah, Red, what are you on about? You can't do that, can you? Dru used to talk about mind-walking and stuff, but even she was never loony enough to try it—that's some serious stuff!”

“What, mind-walking? That's not so big, I totally can do that! I did that last year, with Buffy, before I even knew half the stuff I do now. You think Drusilla could do more than me, just because she had the sight? I brought Buffy back! Drusilla couldn't even fix your chip! I could, you know. If I wanted to. You have no idea what I can do—I'm very powerful, you know.”

Spike hadn't been afraid of a human—of anything—in a very long time, but there was something in Willow's eyes that reminded him unpleasantly of Angelus with a new idea to introduce him to, of that mob in Prague taking Dru, of himself in that buggering wheelchair, or powerless and restrained in the tunnels of the Initiative. She looked at him challengingly, and it felt as if she could see right into his head, where the chip nestled. What had happened to the innocent schoolgirl in her goofy sweaters? He racked his brain trying to remember when she had stopped hiding in the background and changed so much. He thought that maybe it was over the summer, with Buffy gone, that she had really expanded to fill the leadership gap. Was she chafing at being demoted again? Or was it just the seductive pull of the magics, the knowledge and the power?

He stayed quiet after that, and Willow did too, seemingly absorbed in her planning. When they reached the house Spike set himself up on the couch, and Willow went upstairs, stating her intention of casting protective wards around the house.

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Buffy stretched out on the couch at Giles', finally alone. Giles had gone upstairs to sleep, after making it very clear that he hoped that his tub would not have to be occupied for long this time, and Tara was in the bathroom with the creature, trying to communicate. Though Buffy had been waiting impatiently to be alone since following Spike inside nearly an hour ago, now she found she didn't know how to use it. She had wanted solitude to think about what had happened outside, but her mind was a jumble, thoughts slipping and turning and sliding out of reach. Every time she tried to concentrate, she succumbed to the physical memory of Spike, of their kisses.

It had been...the greatest thing she'd ever felt. It had overwhelmed her, quieted her busy mind and awakened her deadened senses, all at once. She felt zingy all over, and though she'd wanted him to leave, now she felt his absence like a vacuum, a tangible void. She just wanted to run to where he was and pull him to her. Even the thought of touching, again, like that...she sighed and smiled.

But what had happened there—after? She thought it was her fault, that she had done something, but what? And how? This was Spike—he'd stuck around for years of being punched in the face and magically locked out and even when she died, and somehow in thirty seconds she'd done something that had driven him away? That seemed pretty unlikely. So why was he mad at her? She'd been so dazed by their kisses, unable to comprehend that they had really happened—and that they had been amazing!—that she had been slow to respond to Tara's appearance; and then he had been gone, had come back inside and chatted with the others like nothing had happened. He had acted like nothing had changed, like the world hadn't just rolled over and turned inside out, shattered all of Buffy's illusions and left her with a blank slate to fill in. She had loved Angel, he was everything to her, but it hadn't felt like that, nor with the others, the humans, not before or since... with Spike it had been epic.

She didn't know how or why, but it had been so far removed from anything she had thought or expected it might be when she'd thought about it, before. And yes, she could admit it now, she had thought about it.

But now that it had finally become reality—the only thing she could think to compare it to was, and this didn't seem right, but it was the moment on top of the tower, the moment when she understood, knew what she was supposed to do, that death was her gift. At that moment, after the months of confusion and worry, she had known complete certainty that she was doing the right thing and that everything would be fine. And it was, until it wasn't, but also—it was. Still. Kissing, holding Spike—it had felt right. She had thought it was a mistake, she had felt so much guilt, so dirty, just for wanting it, that she was sure if anything ever happened she would want to die of the shame, it would blot out any satisfaction she could possibly derive from the experience. But when the fireworks in her head had settled enough for her to think a little, when he was touching her—all she felt was sure. Confident, certain. The shame was gone, burned away with the doubt, leaving her clean and calm.

But he had acted like it was just a kiss, just another day, and oh god, what if he was disappointed? What if it hadn't been like that for him at all, had been nothing but the fumblings of an inexperienced schoolgirl young enough to be his granddaughter (and then some, and yuck, don't look at it that way!).... Had he waited all that time only to find it wasn't so great after all? He was over 100 years older than her, and she—she'd only ever been with a few guys, really. Angel—no, Angelus—had said those things—don't think about him. But he had, and he was evil, but.... But so was Spike supposed to be, but he really wasn't, and he would never never say those things to her, she knew that, but what if he was thinking them, quietly, secretly? And Angel—well, he said lots of true things when he was evil. Just because he wanted to hurt her didn't mean he was lying... oh god.

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Dawn's alarm woke her at seven-thirty, and she stumbled out of bed. She'd used the bathroom, gotten dressed, and was heading down for breakfast when she realized how quiet it was. Buffy always slept late, but where were Willow and Tara? Hadn't they come back from trying to capture the demon last night? Oh no! She ran down the hall and sighed with relief when she saw Willow slumped over her books in her bed, fast asleep. She pulled some of the books away and closed them, then headed downstairs. She got her cereal and toast together happily, and headed to the living room to steal a few minutes to watch TV while she ate, even if it would make her late. It wasn't every day she was free of bossy co-parenting from people practically the same age as her.

But Spike was already on the couch, slumped in a half sitting position with his neck at an unpleasant angle. What was he thinking! The blinds weren't even closed! But as Dawn reached around behind him to draw the curtains, she froze in alarm. A small ray of light had crept around the corner of the house and in the window, where it had landed on Spike's fingers, which had passed through the smoking phase to become blackened and shriveled. Yanking his hand to safety Dawn shook him, and began to yell as he didn't respond.

“Spike! Spike! Wake up, come back, no! He's—Willow, what's wrong with him?” she cried, tears starting, as the witch, having heard her shrieks, came stumbling down the stairs looking frantic.

“What, where—Dawnie, what's wrong, what's happened?” She looked around, seeming confused.

“Spike! It's Spike he's—his hand is all burnt and he won't wake up, and it's, he's....” Dawn was crying too hard to continue. She just pointed, still clutching Spike's undamaged hand in her own.

Willow relaxed a little. “Oh, I—wow, I thought someone was here, or—no no, I'm sorry sweetie, don't cry. No, yes, but I'm sure it's not a big deal. Maybe it's just a vamp thing? Hard to wake up in the daytime?”

“Spike always wakes up, he barely even sleeps during the day,” Dawn said defensively through her tears. “He isn't like other vampires, and he always wakes up for me. Something is wrong. I'm going to wake up Buffy.”

“No, you can't—I mean, she isn't here. She's at Giles' place, keeping an eye on the, Tiamat's, uh, offspring. Whatever. We captured one.” Willow said, a little distracted. She was contemplating Spike and started pacing a little.

“I'm calling her then,” Dawn said staunchly. “You keep an eye on Spike and don't let him get burned anymore!”

“Um, yeah, no problem,” Willow muttered, still pacing as she considered the new development. It seemed that this must be the same enchantment that had been used before but Spike hadn't been moved, so what was the point? The last time, they'd seemingly done nothing but get the vampire and Slayer out of the way then dump them at home, but this was different. Of course, the first time Spike had been taken, the kidnappers had done something to him, he had been injured; and of course the Scoobies were now holding a hostage. The question was—what should she do?

She became dimly aware of Dawn's voice raised in alarm once more as she held the phone. She found the extension and carried the cordless back into the living room where she stood over the sleeping vampire as she listened. Tara was telling Dawn that she and Giles were finding it impossible to rouse Buffy, and she could hear Giles trying in the background. Dawn was frantic, and becoming slightly hysterical. Willow stifled her rising annoyance.

“Tara, babe, call me back in a few minutes okay? We'll work this out. Come on Dawnie—let's hang up. It's fine; this happened before and they were fine, we'll work it out. Calm down, honey, okay? Look, me and Tara need to figure out a plan... Hey, how about you get Spike moved and bandage up his hand? It needs something on it, don't you think?”

Dawn was successfully distracted by this, and headed off to fetch her well-used first aid kit, drying her eyes.

Willow dialed Giles' again and was soon absorbed in a technical discussion of barrier breaching, further protections, and possible solutions. Tara had not made any progress with the creature in the tub, but she reported that it seemed calmer and less unhappy. This hadn't actually been a big concern of Willow's, but she accepted any additional information as potentially useful.

As morning stretched into afternoon, Dawn, who had flat out refused to go to school, stayed close to Spike often asking about both Buffy and what Willow was working on. Willow initially found this distracting, but soon began try to explain her ideas to Dawn in order help her think things through, and she found herself calling Tara less often and getting further. She knew Tara was working on the problem as well, (though she suspected she was still spending quite a bit of time with their captive, also) but really—wasn't it up to her to find the way? It was she, Willow, who was the bolder witch, after all, and clearly this situation required more...decisive...action than Tara tended to advocate.

As she began to form a picture of what she would try, she got more and more excited, talking quickly to herself (though in Dawn's general direction) as she worked it through. When she paid attention, she noticed that Dawn didn't seem any calmer, but that was just because the younger girl didn't understand—She totally had this solved! It was fine!

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Dawn felt drained by worry and fear. Should she go to Giles'? It was unbearable being away from Buffy, unable to see for herself that she was (mostly) all right, but she didn't like to leave Spike either. He wasn't as important as her sister, of course, but he had taken care of her, all summer, when she needed it, and she should take care of him. Buffy had Tara and Giles and—well, everyone looked over Buffy, but Spike—he really only had her. No other family, no friends—Dawn felt a pang and resolved to do even better for him when he woke up. In the meantime, she needed to stay by his side. Willow was too caught up in her planning to take care of him. Also, she needed to make sure Willow didn't try to use Spike as some kind of guinea pig for a questionable wake-up-Buffy spell.

Dawn had been sneaking magic books to her room to read all summer, and while she didn't really know how to do much of anything, she had learned a lot about different kinds of magic. And Willow's plans right now seemed a bit worrisome to her.

So she stayed put and listened in closely to Willow's ramblings, trying to figure out what to do.

\--------------------------------

Buffy awoke with a start, Slayer senses on full alert. Where was she? What was this? She looked around, quickly; it was dim, blue, she was surrounded—she was underwater, again. But she was breathing. So this was a dream then. Okay. She looked around again more slowly, and saw Spike doing the same a few feet away while waving his arms experimentally through the murky water. Huh. That was new.

He saw her and they stared, unlocking their gazes only when a large disturbance became apparent a short distance away. They turned, instinctively drawing close and slightly back-to-back, and there she was, even larger and stranger than Buffy remembered. Tiamat.


	14. Chapter 14

By dusk, Dawn felt it was time to talk to someone about Willow's plans. Leaving the redhead poring over books in the dining room, she slipped upstairs to her bedroom and closed the door. Yet even in the privacy of her room, the phone in her hand, she hesitated. Should she talk to Tara, or Giles? Or should she call Xander and Anya? Tara would be likely to excuse any idea of Willow's and find a reason why it was fine, and Giles was always so distracted. Xander and Anya might not really be able to do anything, but they had been in on the whole bring Buffy back from the dead idea. So had Tara, and she had apparently thought that was a fine idea, even after all the shock and refusal to consider it when Dawn had wanted to do the very same thing.... Maybe she should call Giles. Oh, if only Spike were awake! He was who she really needed right now!

But he wasn't, and she was going to have to deal with this herself. Squaring her shoulders and sticking out her chin, Dawn dialed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underwater, Spike was trying to acclimate to a number of things at once. The fact that he was underwater was probably the biggest stumbling block; it was definitely something new to him. His first priority was to try to get a feel for the way his limbs moved in the strange resistance of the water, so he could fight if—when—he needed to. Buffy's presence here made this even more urgent. He needed to be able to help her. But everything felt so strange and slow—he felt almost clumsy trying to move in the ways he was used to doing. And then there was the fact that they were surrounded by hostile demons and being faced down by the largest one of all, the literal mother of the other demons. And that she was talking to them, in a manner of speaking, inside their heads. There was a lot about this not to like. He and Buffy stood back to back; he could feel the tension in her where their shoulders brushed. He took a moment to wonder if all of it was because of the situation they found themselves in, but remained focused on the sea serpent they faced.

It had greeted them by name. Buffy, after struggling a bit, opening and closing her mouth, finally gave in and evidently figured out how to speak with her mind—Spike heard her, in his head, loud and clear.

“What do you want with us? What are we doing here? How did you do this? My friends are so going to kick your, uh, tails for this!”

"Your friends will not find us,” the voice said, sonorous and clear. “We do not mean you harm, and you will be returned to yourselves. We must communicate with you now. Then all will be as it was.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Buffy demanded. Spike could feel her making small movements, disguised as shifting and settling, but he knew she was also feeling the strange pressure and slowness of the water and adjusting accordingly, readying herself.

Tiamat waved one of its many arms casually. “You do not need to ready yourself to fight, little one. We know what you are capable of; that is why you have been brought here. We did not bring you here to continue the fighting; we wish to stop this. We will talk.”

“Oh yeah? Well, talk then. Tell me why I'm not fighting you after you follow us around and kidnap us and...and...and you hurt Spike!”

“Yes, we have taken notice of your concern for the demon. It is why we have brought him here with you today.”

“Thanks ever so,” Spike snarked to himself, and was shocked to realize it had been projected as speech. He silenced his thoughts and exchanged a glance with Buffy, who seemed to understand his startled look.

“We have observed you, as you say. We have gone into your streets and dreams and learned all we can, and now we have brought you here. We had not intended to, but you hold our child with your magics and we are worried for her. It is time this is ended.”

Huh, Spike thought (to himself), 'her' is it? Wonder if Tara knows? And what did it mean, dreams?

“Oh no,” Buffy said, “there will be no ending of us. Bigger fish than you have tried that trick, not gonna happen. You didn't stalk me long enough if you thought it was gonna be that easy! You might be big old fish-witches but trust me, I'm not that easy to get rid of.”

“No indeed,” said the serpent. “But you no longer truly wish that it were so easy, do you? It seems you have lost some of your desire to return to the place where you were, is that not so? This is important to us—we have come to believe that we may be able to deal together, with reason. We are prepared to forgive you, knowing that you acted from grief and fear, and that you have begun to heal. But we require assurance that that healing will continue, rendering you less of a threat.”

“Huh? I'm still a plenty big threat, snake lady! And, huh?”

Ignoring Buffy, the serpent turning its attention to Spike. “William,” the deep voice intoned. He stared in shock. “It is you who can act as assurance for us. We must know that you will remain in place, both in fact and in spirit, for this one. She is unpredictable and dangerous without you but you can temper her and guide her. The love you share will render this situation stable, but we must know that that will not change, leaving her to revert to the wildness and instability that led to the loss of our brother.”

Spike just stared, nonplussed, but Buffy was enraged. “Okay, I know you're demons, but this is just proof that you're nuts too! You want Spike to guide me because I might be dangerous? What the hell were your people doing out there when they were supposed to be skulking around gathering intel on us, going out for fish sticks? I'm the good one here, not evil! And I don't exactly need a soulless killer to show me right from wrong! And who the hell are you to talk about wrong anyway! You're demons! You knocked us out and dragged us here with magic or something, you...you...what did you do to Spike anyway? You hurt him! How's that so good and pure, huh?”

Tiamat's mellow, calm 'voice' broke through Buffy's shocked ranting. “We are very sorry for the injuries your vampire sustained during his first visit with us, and for the need to erase his memories. We were ill-prepared for his kind, and erred in finding the right way to proceed, initially. William,” again he was startled and found himself fixed in the demon's eerie, flat gaze, “please forgive us. We are glad you are restored to your former self now.” It returned its gaze to Buffy, who was tense and angry. “It seems that we were right in our initial desire to postpone this meeting a bit longer. However, we worry for the safety of our daughter. Do you intend to harm her? Will you not return her to us?”

“We haven't—she's fine! We aren't hurting her at all—she's even in water!” Buffy was defensive.

“That is welcome news. We would like to have her restored to our keep. Can we be assured that this will happen?”

“Uh...” Buffy was silent. “Will you leave if we give her back to you?”

“We will leave, certainly. This is not our place to stay. But not until we are certain it is safe. We would talk once more, before then.”

“If we give her back, I want you to pack up and get out of here.” Buffy said stubbornly.

Tiamat undulated in the water, snake eyes fixed unnervingly on its captives. At last, it spoke again. “We will send you back. You are not ready to talk with us. But we accept your assurances that our daughter is not being harmed, and we hope you will return her. We will speak again.”

Spike tensed for whatever was about to happen. Tiamat turned a sinuous flip and swam into the dark murk, leaving them surrounded by smaller, but still very formidable demons, who drew nearer and closed the circle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Giles arrived at the Summers residence in record time. Dawn ran down the stairs when she heard the bell, and flung open the door to admit him. Night had fallen and the watcher was lit in the warm light from inside. Dawn threw her arms around him, sniffling. He patted her a bit awkwardly, and assured her that nothing had changed, Buffy was fine, but he was distracted, angry seeming. He pulled her arms from around his waist and she stepped back uncertainly. The look on her face softened his glare somewhat.

“Don't worry, Dawn,” he said. “Everything will be fine. You did the right thing to call me, and I'm very glad you did. But I need to speak with Willow alone now—you just go upstairs, can you?”

She nodded, uncertain, and backed slowly back up the stairs, watching Giles stride into the living room. She saw Willow look up, abstracted and annoyed; then Giles turned to give the girl on the stairs a meaningful look and she continued to her room.

In the living room Willow was attempting to drag her mind out of the planning and spell building she'd been so absorbed in all day, and to master her irritation at Giles' presence. Everything had been so easy when she was left alone, and free to just work by herself for once. And now, when she was just about done with the prep and ready to actually accomplish something, here was interference; as usual.

“What's up, G?” she asked, trying to sound happy to see him. He looked deeply angry and she thought back to their confrontation, the night he'd returned. She'd made things clear then, and he'd left her alone—was she going to have to do the same, again? She felt herself becoming angry at the thought that it might be necessary.

Sure enough, the next words out of his mouth were, “We have to talk.”

She was tired and wanted to get back to her work. She couldn't play the good little girl for him, and why should she have to? She shouldn't have to pretend to be less than she was! That was—was sexist!

“I'm pretty busy right now, actually; trying to, you know, save Buffy and figure out what's up with the big bad and everything? So how about we take a rain check on this one, yeah? I'll let you know when I'm ready to wake her up, don't worry.”

“Actually, I'm afraid this has already waited overly long, Willow. I have been remiss in my duties, and I have let things go too far. It is what you plan to do to speak to our captive and wake Buffy that I have come to speak with you about.”

“Your duties? If you mean, you should have been the one to bring Buffy back, well, you weren't—I was! But that is where your duties end, because I'm no Slayer, and you have no power over me. You are not my watcher, and you do not tell me what to do! Someone needs to take care of things, and it looks like that someone is me, again. So how about you get out of my way and let me work, huh?”

“I'm sorry,” he said, calm but unyielding, “but I can't do that. You may not be my Slayer, but as a practitioner of magic in my territory I do, in fact, have a responsibility to monitor you. That is not, however, why I'm here. You know I have come to care for all of you, and the road I see you going down...it worries me, Willow.”

“Monitor all you like, Rupert, but you will not tell me what to do, or interfere. I'm on a road that is just fine, thank you very much, and I know just where I'm going. I know things you cannot imagine, with your books and your council training! Now go, before I banish you.” Her face was set and cold.

“Willow, have you truly learned nothing from the past? I know you're smarter than that; you have a singularly brilliant mind. Are you blind to where you are headed? Dawn has told me what you're planning; can it be that you are dismissing the memory of your previous attempt to impose your will on others? This cannot end well, and it is out of the question. Even using such a spell to question our captive is untenable, but to think of imposing your will on Buffy, even Spike, even for their own benefit—Willow, this is madness!”

“Dawn doesn't know what she's talking about! You think I don't have a better idea than to repeat some silly schoolgirl charm? You're right, I am smart, very, and I have better tricks than that up my sleeve. I—”

But here Willow broke off in surprise. Giles turned to see what she was looking at, just as Spike sat up with a cry. As they stared blankly at him, he leapt to his feet.

“Buffy!” he exclaimed. They were slow to respond, and he strode forward. “Buffy! Where is she? They were closing in around us—is she back? We have to find her! I can go back, I can go down there....”

Giles recovered enough to speak.

“She's at my flat—we can check on her. Go where? You said down there...”

Willow had already grabbed the cordless phone from beside her stacks of papers and was talking to Tara. She met their eyes and nodded, mouthing “she's awake” to them. After a moment she held the phone away from her and headed for the stairs, explaining, “she wants to talk to Dawn.”

When she heard her name the teen came rushing down the stairs before Willow could say anything about picking up the phone; at the sight of Spike she started crying all over again and stood hugging him while talking to Buffy. When she hung up she looked uncertainly from Giles to Willow, who were eying one another warily.

“She's coming here,” she said. “They all are. They're bringing the fish. Buffy said it's important; Xander's going to give them all a ride.”

It seemed like it took them forever to get there. Spike knew they were waiting for a ride and packing up the hostage and it would take how long it took, but he was vibrating with tension waiting for them. He needed to see Buffy. He needed to be in her presence; to reassure himself that she was okay, yes, but it was more than that. They had kissed, had connected somehow, some way they never had before. In a way he maybe hadn't with anyone, ever; and then he had left. God, he was a prat! He had seen her since then, sort of; but things had been distracting, to say the least, and anyway it turned out maybe he hadn't actually seen her, that it had been a dream? Oh, the hell with figuring that out. He just needed to know where things stood.

He couldn't stand talking to the others, inside. He paced furiously back and forth across the back porch, smoking one cigarette after another. From time to time he saw Dawn peeking out at him, happy he was awake, and he'd give her a little wave, but he didn't stop moving or invite her out. His hand was almost healed up now; she'd told him what had happened, and he'd been angry at the demons for their carelessness; but he couldn't sustain it. It didn't matter. All that mattered was seeing Buffy again. He had to know if she'd felt it, what he had. Because if she hadn't, if it was just him...

Finally, finally, he heard the car pull into the driveway. He strode around the side of the house rather than going inside, and was there when she opened the door. She looked pleased, and a bit abashed. His heart rose, hopefully.

“Tara, can you take care of getting her situated? The downstairs bathroom, the tub will be fine. Xander, sorry about your car, we'll get it clean, I promise. Sorry Anya. I'll come in in a minute, okay?” and she came to his side.

He looked down at her, wordless, wondering. They waited while the others went inside; but when they were alone she seemed at a loss. He leaned in a bit, reached out his hand; and she seemed to sway towards him. Her lips were parted, and she was holding her breath, but as his hand came to rest on her shoulder, the door flew open and a crying Dawn threw herself towards them and at Buffy. Buffy hugged her back as Spike faded back into the corner of the porch, angry at himself. Of course she needed to see Dawn! What was he thinking, he knew how upset the niblet was! And Buffy probably wanted to see her, too, not be out here with him...but that was where his self-loathing broke down. He knew damn well that as much as Buffy loved her sis, she would probably rather be out here with him any day of the week—and as he smiled at this thought he caught Buffy's eye over Dawn's shoulder and she smiled back. His heart, dead though it was, soared once more.

As the three of them headed in to join the others he felt alive, happy. He didn't knew where all this was going; but it didn't matter. Buffy had smiled at him, and later he would kiss her. And she would let him. He had everything he could want.


	15. Chapter 15

Spike was enraged.

Just a short time ago, everything was peachy; things with Buffy couldn't be better, this demon situation was resolving itself, and soon they'd go back whatever deep sea trench they crawled out of and he could go back to fighting things he could actually fight... all they had to do was get through this meeting, which should be a no-brainer, and he and Buffy could hit the streets. Why, the demons had thoughtfully told them exactly what they wanted, handed it over on a silver platter! He couldn't wait to go 'patrol'....

So he straddled an ottoman near Buffy's left side, and prepared to be bored. But the meeting didn't go at all as he expected.

The group got settled in the living room of the Summers' house, and reviewed the facts of the situation. They knew who their opponents were; this Tiamat and her offspring. Their research had told them that the group of them traveled about, roaming the oceanic and coastal world. Little was known about their magical abilities; indeed there was very little on record about them interacting with others. Most of the reports and information took the form of sightings and rumor, mostly from other aquatic races, with the occasional venture a little bit ashore by one or more of the smaller, more adaptable, demons. Mostly, they discussed the strange encounter Spike and Buffy had just returned from; if indeed they had been gone at all. The retelling of it took some time to untangle, as the two disagreed somewhat on what, exactly, had been said by the the serpent. But eventually they agreed that they had recaptured the dialogue as best as they were able.

So far so good; Spike spent lots of time ignoring the talking and looking at Buffy, feeling pleased with himself. He'd taken the initiative, and yeah; she'd liked it. He still had it.

But then...

“Well, s-so we know what they want, at least?” said Tara, obviously uncomfortable to be the first to say something about it, but making an effort. “And that they won't hurt us... so we should let the prisoner go, right?”

“What?” cried Xander, obviously shocked. “No way! After all that crap they said? We can't trust these demons, we don't know what they want.”

“Don't know what they want?” replied Spike. “What the hell are you saying? What do you want, an official document, signed and sealed? They just told you what they want!”

“Of course Spike thinks they're perfectly rational! They're probably in cahoots or something—what, did you put them up to that? 'All we want is for Spike to watch over Buffy and take care of her'...yeah, that's a good idea. Why is he even a part of this? Go creep around outside, why don't you, stalker boy?” Xander looked disgusted, and scowled around the room.

Spike looked murderous, and was about to respond when Buffy stopped him with a gentle touch to his arm. He glared fiercely at Xander, but kept quiet.

“No,” she said, “Spike didn't do anything wrong. This isn't his fault. These fishy guys are—have some weird ideas, but it isn't Spike's fault. He stays.”

He smirked and stared challengingly at Xander. The rest of the room mostly looked at her Buffy, with varying reactions. Dawn, at least, looked happy. She was seated to Buffy's right, staying within arms reach and keeping an anxious watch on her.

Giles broke the silence after a few moments. “Ah, very well. In any case, Spike is undeniably a part of this and we need—well, his recollections are useful. I agree that we have some idea what the creatures claim to want, but it does seem that they are up to something. Their stated desires are somewhat... incomprehensible. I feel that we are still missing something, and much as I hate to keep this creature here indefinitely, the prisoner may still be our best way of discovering what's really going on.”

“Are you mad?” cried Spike, jolted back out of his self-satisfied state. “What they want couldn't be clearer! The Slayer here kicked their pal to an early grave and now they want someone to keep tabs on her so she doesn't do it again! What could be simpler? What do you people want, graphs?”

“Why would they want you to keep her in line? That's just crazy! If they've been spying on us all they know better, and anyway they supposedly looked all in your brain and stuff when they kidnapped you—so you can't seriously believe that,” Willow chimed in. “They probably just saw how much you'd like that. Who knows what all went on when they had you! How do we know you aren't working with them, like Xander says? You got awfully upset that I might do a memory spell on you... maybe we still should.”

“No!” Buffy and Giles said simultaneously and loudly. Willow glared at Giles, but Spike distracted her.

“Oh, so now I'm the bad guy because I don't want someone rooting about in my brain!”

“You are the bad guy,” Xander cried. “Why am I the only one that seems to remember that? You're the bad guy because you're an evil, bloodsucking monster who would kill us all if he could!”

“No, he isn't.” Buffy said staunchly, surprising everyone. “He didn't want to kill any of us when he thought the chip didn't work—and he's been on our side for ages now. He's...he's a good guy now.”

“Hey now,” Spike said angrily. “Not really the kind of help I need here, love.”

“Oh, come on Spike, what would you call it?” she shot back. He frowned, and didn't answer right away.

To everyone's surprise, Anya spoke up.

“He is, you know. One of the good guys now. I've seen plenty of bad guys, and he's not one. If he really wanted to kill us, he could have lots of times, even with the chip. He never wanted to, even when he used to say he did all the time! He just doesn't want to admit it because then he'd have to admit that he isn't who he thinks he is and it would be complicated and hard. But I think he would be a very good choice of who to keep an eye on Buffy. Someone probably should, she's been very unstable since we brought her back from hell. Most likely it's a bad idea to bring humans back from hell; it may be too much for them to handle. And Spike's the one she spends the most time with, plus no one else would be able to keep up with her to keep an eye on her. I think it's a very good idea.”

“Not really helping, sweetie,” muttered Xander.

Tara spoke hesitantly. “I kind of think she's right. Spike is kind of a good person to watch over Buffy...I mean, if someone needs to watch over her, which, maybe not, but if there was a need, then I think Spike could be good...”

“He already does look out for her,” Dawn said defensively. “He takes care of both of us and he has since forever. What's the big deal? And why are you so mean to him, anyway, Xander? What did he ever do to you?”

“What—what did—oh gee, aside from kidnapping me and trying to kill both my best friends, multiple times, and oh yeah, my girlfriend got rebar through her stomach and could have died because of him—”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Anya said firmly and gripped her boyfriend's knee.

“And...and...” Xander seemed to have lost his train of thought. “And he teamed up with Adam, and he's probably just doing all this to get into Buffy's...ah, to,uh, get into Buffy's good graces. And working behind our backs!”

“He wouldn't do that!” Dawn said.

“He would so do that—that's exactly the kind of thing he does, Dawn!”

“Oi! It doesn't matter because I'm not doing it. And how exactly do you fancy I set that up, eh? You think I was hanging out at the pub at Bikini Bottom one day and struck up a chat with a giant sea serpent and hatched a plot to really stick it to the lot of you by getting abducted and beat up? You're off your nut!”

“Enough,” Buffy said, quietly but with force. They all looked at her. “Spike is not working with the monsters. Spike is... on our side. We don't know what they really want or why, and we need to figure it out.”

“Christ, not you too,” Spike said, annoyed. “What is this, another one of those Ben is Glory clusterfucks? You were there! You know what they want.”

“Yes, we all know what they said they want but I don't think it makes sense. This business of Spike keeping tabs on me is ridiculous. So for now we keep the prisoner. Tara, you keep trying to get it—her—to talk, try to find that psychic, uh, channel or whatever you were talking about. Me and Spike will patrol, and see if we can find anything. Really, we just have to talk to this, uh, her. It's all we've got right now. Giles, you go over everything we told you, see if you can figure something.”

Giles nodded, agreeing.

Spike tried to get a word in, feeling extremely aggravated, at Buffy, at all of them. Even Dawn wasn't paying him any mind and he was the only one here talking sense! But Willow piped in, equally annoyed, from the sound of it.

“We don't need to beg and plead it for information, I have it all figured out. I was going to tell you, I worked on this spell all day, and it's totally ready to go. It's foolproof! All I have to do is get this going, and we can solve this whole thing right now, no patrolling, no nothing.”

Dawn tugged anxiously on Buffy's sleeve and started trying to whisper to her, but her sister wasn't listening. Willow was steadfastly ignoring Giles, but he was undeterred. Crossing the room to stand in her line of vision, he spoke in a voice that was soft but full of menace.

“That spell is inappropriate for this, or any, situation, and you will not do it. We will find out what we need to know by other means.”

Dawn fell silent. Tara looked nervous. “I don't know—I mean, I'm sure if Wilow has something in mind, it's probably all right...”

“Tell them,” Giles said. “Tell Tara what spell you want to use against your friends.”

“It's not against!” Willow spat. “I want to use it for them, to help, and you obviously can't understand. If you cared what happened to them, to all of us, you'd want to do something to help, not stand in the way of the only person who can. It's what we need to do—how many times do we let Buffy get kidnapped before we do something? When have they gone to far, when they take Dawn and erase her memory? When it's you? They have to be stopped, and I can stop them.”

“By what means? Does it matter nothing to you what you become in doing what is expedient?”

“Oh, stop being so melodramatic, Giles. I'm not going to become anything, I just want to get some answers! It's not such a big deal.”

“It is. All actions have repercussions and consequences, and you become what you do. Results are not always the lasting legacy of an action.”

“Sweetie, what is the spell?” Tara broke in, looking frightened.

“It's nothing, just a combination of a few things I figured out today. Sort of based on what we were talking about this morning...it's not so big...here, you tell him. You know I can do this.” Willow handed her notebook to her girlfriend, open to a page of dense writing punctuated by symbols and diagrams. Tara read through it slowly, while the rest of them waited.

When she raised her eyes to Willow's she looked upset, but determined. “I agree with Giles, baby. I'm sorry. I, I just don't think this is the way.”

“Why not?” Willow snapped, frustrated. “I can do this! It would work!”

Tara didn't back down.

“I know you can, but you shouldn't. These are forces that should remain untouched. Imposing your will on others leaves a mark on you, as well.”

“Just for the rest of the crowd, here, can I ask what exactly we're talking about?” Xander asked.

“We need this thing to tell us what it knows, right?” Willow said, a little condescendingly. “And it doesn't want to. Or, I tell Buffy to wake up, and she does! Or, we want to know what happened to Spike, say, and he doesn't think he remembers, but really his brain totally does. So, I do this spell and I tell the fish to talk to me, and it has to! Or I tell Spike to tell me whether he's working for Tiamat, and he has to! And we know whatever we find out is totally true! And no one gets hurt.”

“So, like a truth spell?” asked Buffy.

“N-no.” Tara said.

“Not a truth spell?”

“It's... it's a w-will spell. It makes people tell the truth because they do anything you tell them to—it's more like a, a zombie spell.”

“What?” Xander sat up. “No, no, not good. Zombies bad! I hope we remember the hopefully never to be repeated zombie party of '98 and how well that didn't go!”

“It's not—it's only a little bit of the zombie spell! You're taking it all out of context and—Tara look at it, you can see how different it is. It's better, not so crude!”

Tara was resolute. “No, even a tiny bit is too much. I'm sorry baby, but there's a reason these spells aren't already written and in the books. Anything that p-pushes your desire onto another... it's wrong.”

“But not always! Not if you use it for good... sometimes people need a little help, and they don't even know what they need. Like, they're unhappy, and it's your fault, and you need to... make it better.” She broke off. “Anyway, who cares about old bait breath in there? She's probably just going to dry up and die anyway, and we need to find out something now—this is all we have against these guys! I don't hear any of you coming up with a better idea!”

Tara looked stricken.

“Hello, right here? The bloke with the idea that we just do what they want and everyone's happy? I thought I liked fighting, but you lot are just starting a bloody crusade for no reason at all here!”

“Stop—yelling—right—now! All of you! Willow, I don't know what is up with this spell but it's sounds like a bad idea. I'm sorry you worked on it all day, but now we're awake again, and we don't need to do this. Me and Spike were able to talk to them when they... took us, just now... I'm sure you and Tara can find a way. And I'm sorry that you're worried about making Tara unhappy and I know I haven't been a very good friend, but I swear that's going to change, as soon as this is over, okay? Maybe even sooner. But right now...”

“Tara! I'm not worried about making Tara... what I did, to you—I have to do something!”

“To me?” Buffy asked cautiously, a feeling that she knew what was about to happen and it was too late to stop it clenching her gut. “But then why...?” she gestured towards Tara, who was crying a little now, and looking at Willow like she didn't know her.

“I... how could you call her that, baby? How could you—she's a living being, just like us. You know how important that is to me, and I know you all fight demons and you're used to it, and I fight monsters too, but... when they aren't monsters you can't...” Tears streamed down Tara's pale face, and realizing everyone was looking at her, she hid behind her hands, and stood. “I-I'll just...” But she stopped at the doorway, looking towards her girlfriend.

Willow was looking plaintively around at all of them. “You guys, I'm not... I just wanted to make it all right. I—Buffy, I know what I did to you, all right. You don't have to pretend to be okay anymore, you can stop.”

“What did you do to Buffy?” Giles asked, sounding wary.

“Tell him,” Willow said, crying now. “Tell him what a good friend I am, how much I helped—” she spat the word angrily. “Go ahead. Tell them all.”

Buffy sighed, sure now that she knew what this was about. She took her friend's hand. “No, it's fine. We don't need to do this. You didn't know, none of you did. I don't... well, I was mad. But I'm not now. And I know you're sorry.”

But Willow pulled her hand away, and strode to the middle of the room. She turned to each of them, tears streaming down her cheeks, as she spoke.

“No. They should know. They should know what we did, then they won't be so quick to condemn me for trying to fix it. You think I don't know, why we stopped having those meetings? You think I don't know what you said behind my back, what you thought? Well I was right! Something was wrong, and we should have fixed it! I was right! Remember how we wanted to know where Buffy was—well I figured out how to find out. And I looked, while I was in your brain, Buffy. I looked to see, and guess what you guys? That hell dimension we saved poor Buffy from an eternity of torment in? Not so much. She was in heaven.

“Heaven! Puffy clouds and nirvana and I thought, oh I know what's a good idea, I'll bring Buffy back to life in her coffin so she can claw her way to the surface and run around trying to fight evil and hang out with soulless vampires and pay the bills and come back to school with me, because I missed my friend. What kind of... What kind of person does that? What's wrong with me? Baby, what's the matter with me?”

Tara held on, dismayed, as Willow collapsed sobbing into her arms.

The others were quiet, aghast. Giles' brow furrowed and he seemed tired, and sad; he removed his glasses and rubbed them slowly with a cloth, gazing down at his hands. Spike looked at Buffy, decided she didn't need him for this, and slipped out the front door, relieved to be getting away from the whole mess. He had some things of his own to mull over, anyway; this meeting had been enlightening in ways he hadn't expected, or wanted.

Buffy sighed, and sat back down.

“Look it isn't... it's not... it's not that big a deal,” she said awkwardly. “Let's just forget about it. It happened, I'm over it, let's move on. Now you know why I was such a bitch at first, but I'm fine now. Seriously, Will, I'm not mad anymore. Okay?”

Dawn was crying. “You—you didn't want to come back!” she cried accusingly. “You weren't all weird because you were adjusting, you were—you didn't want to be here! You wanted to stay there, without, away from here, from...from me!” By the end she was gasping and sobbing. She turned and ran out of the room, upstairs.

Xander looked uncomfortable. “I'll go talk to the Dawnster. But... she's right, isn't she Buff? We screwed up big time, bringing you back to this hellhole?”

Buffy looked miserable. “You guys, don't. I didn't want you to know, it doesn't... it doesn't make any difference. I know you meant really well, and it's... it's not so bad really. I mean, I think... I think maybe I am glad you did it!” She sounded a little surprised.

“Well, of course you are,” said Anya, and looked around defensively when everyone just looked at her. “What? Heaven is boring, everyone knows that! It's way better to be here, where there's orgasms, and food, and fighting, and clothes—everyone would come back if they could. When I was a demon, sometimes I sent evil men to a heaven dimension. It's only good at first, then you start to miss your body. That's probably why her and Spike hang out so much now, because she's appreciating having her body back.”

“Anya, she knew perfect happiness—I felt it, I was there, and then she.. she...” Willow began to cry again. “It was like being ripped in half and dragged out... and, and then the light and noise and fighting... I did that, I ruined everything! I have to... she shouldn't have to remember that all the time. I have to fix it, make it better...”

“No baby,” Tara said gently. “No. You can't fix everything, but it's okay. It's okay not to. Look at Buffy, hon, look; she's okay now. It's okay. She's strong, and she has you, and all her friends, and you've already helped. It's going to be okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly an hour passed before Buffy slipped out to find Spike. Even more tears had been shed all around, and they had talked calmly and at length in a way that Buffy couldn't remember doing for years. Dawn had been brought back downstairs, and eventually fallen asleep with her head in Buffy's lap, tear-stained and wrung out. There was work to be done there still, Buffy thought, but it would be all right. It had taken a while to notice, but in convincing everyone that she was okay now Buffy had come to realize, more with each iteration, that she wasn't just saying it; she really had turned a corner.

Somehow, she thought, it had happened when Wilow had gone into that memory, had relived the resurrection. She, Buffy, hadn't even known what was happening, had only experienced the echo of the emotions, yet somehow she felt she had been freed, in that moment, from the hold it had had on her. It was as if she had become lighter. Maybe Anya was right; maybe having a body was worth it, all of it. She giggled to herself at Anya's view of life. A thousand years old, and all she cared about was feeling good and being loved. Well, maybe that was all there was after all. What else had heaven been but that? But she could feel good here, she thought, smiling with anticipation to see Spike still there in the shadowed corner of the porch.

She sobered at the grim look on Spike's face, however. He was standing in a litter of ashes and butts, as if he hadn't moved since he'd come outside over an hour ago, and he looked at her steadily and seriously.

“Hey?” she offered hesitantly. “What's the bad news face for? Didn't you hear all that? Deepest secrets, revealed at last, all well on the Hellmouth again. What?”

She was starting to have that gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach, the anxious certainty that bad news was coming.

“Just, been thinking, Slayer. Out here.” he turned away, and began to pace, talking quietly as if to himself. “Can't bloody believe I'm saying this, must have maggots in my brain... Look, Slayer, I can't do this. You know I want you—I bloody love you! I've never wanted anything the way I want to hold you, and be with you... but it's not enough. It's... I'm a monster, I know it. But for you, for you I've become... something else. And I thought you saw that, knew that, and I knew we had a patch to go yet, that you didn't love me, maybe never would... but I thought you saw me. I'm not... I can't be your plaything. To enjoy having your body back,” he added bitterly. “God knows it'll turn me inside out, you decide to enjoy it with someone else, but I'm not—I can't be your plaything, Buffy,” he finished, looking determinedly away from her.

She almost laughed with relief. “Is that it? Oh Spike, you can't be serious. That's just Anya, you know how she is. It's not like that! Hey...” She went to him, put her hand on his back, trying to turn him towards her. “Spike, we're... I don't know what we are, but you're my friend, and you're—it's not like that. I don't know what it is, but it's not that.”

But when he turned to her, he was stone faced and forbidding. “It's not that. I knew what they would say, Buffy, the others. I knew they'd take some convincing, that I could help you. But I didn't think you would be one of them. I thought you knew, I thought you saw what I had done, for you. Who I was. I see you, Buffy, I know you—I always have. I know the sound of your blood pumping through your veins, and the scent of your tears. But you, you don't see me at all. I'm just a monster to you. We fight, we work together, but in the end I'm just another vampire, I'm beneath your notice. Well, I can't be your bloody puppet, not this way. I love you too much, I couldn't bear it. I'm sorry, Buffy—you're going to have to find someone else to bring you back to life.”

He strode off into the night, hunched and sad, but unwavering. Buffy was left alone, too shocked to think.


	16. Chapter 16

When Tara came out of the bathroom, Willow was still sitting on the edge of the bed where Tara had left her. Her shoes were off, but she hadn't otherwise moved, she just stared at her feet, looking shell-shocked. She raised her puffy eyes as Tara came back into the room.

“Baby, I don't know what to do,” she said brokenly. “I just wanted to help, I wanted to make things right—I know I messed up, what we did with Buffy, I just wanted to make up for it, but it, it all went wrong? Somehow? Am I... is there something wrong with me baby?”

“Shhh, shh honey,” Tara grasped her hands. “It's going to be all right, we'll work it out. Nothing too bad happened, and that's the important thing. Let's get you ready for bed, and we'll work it all out in the morning, okay sweetie? Come on, on your feet, there we go...”

Willow's voice was muffled as Tara pulled her limp arms out of her sweater and lifted it over her head.

“But I don't know—I don't know what—I believe you. I believe you, that it's wrong, I was wrong, that I shouldn't do the things... but it still seems right, don't you see? I believe you, but I can't see it for myself, and if I can't tell—well what am I? Don't you see, what does that make me? And how can I ever—I can't just follow you around and ask you what to do always. I'm—is there something broken, in me? Am I...” her voice dropped to a whisper. “Tara, what if I don't have a soul anymore?”

“What?” The normally imperturbable Tara was shocked. “Of course you have a soul, w-what are you saying?”

“Well it's just,” Willow twisted her hands, looking down, “when I did the spell to bring Buffy back, I, I did things, that I didn't tell you—a-and then I was tested, you know, and I don't really know what they did, not really, and what if as their price... what if they took it. Took my soul.” Her last words were a barely audible whisper.

“Willow, have you been—you don't really think that! Sweetie, you know I'd be able to tell! You know that about me, right? You just aren't thinking clearly. This is why we need to get some rest.” Tara was firm.

“No, I mean—well, okay yeah, maybe you could tell. Could you? Are you sure? What if, if you weren't looking...”

“Willow. Baby. You have a soul. The same beautiful, wonderful Willow shaped soul you've always had. Why would you think anything else?”

“It's only, it's just... you all seem so sure you know what's right, and everyone keeps being mad at me, but I, I don't think it's wrong! I just want to help, and get things done, and I don't think I'm doing anything so terrible, but you all act like it's so obvious that I'm wrong wrong wrong! And if you're right, what does that make me? Am I a monster?”

“No. It makes you human, my brilliant little Willow. You act like humans have never struggled with issues of right and wrong before—souls are, are, miraculous and wonderful and important, but it doesn't do all the work for you! You just need to turn that amazing, busy busy mind off and listen to the rest of you sometimes. You need to listen in here,” and she took Willow's hands in her own and placed them on her chest.

“Will you—can you help me? I don't want to be, to be broken. I want to do right, I want you to love me again...”

“I still love you, babe, I never stopped. You're going to be fine... shh... come on, let's get to bed now? Please?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rectangle of light spilling from the upstairs window onto the lawn turned off, abruptly darkening the yard. Buffy remained sitting on the stairs, and in a moment her eyes adjusted. She had been there since Spike had left, cycling through one emotional response after another.

Watching him walk off into the night, her initial response had been disbelief—Spike was turning her down? Was walking away from her?

But her indignation had faded quickly, leaving her stomach twisted with humiliation. She had been right after all, in the first place. It was her—even Spike, who professed to love her, had changed his mind—and they hadn't even—they'd only kissed! And she'd messed even that up so badly that he didn't even want to try again. A whole year of following her around, staying loyal even after she died, and it only took one kiss to change his mind completely, that had to be some kind of a record. Buffy Summers, romance Slayer, killer of crushes....

She relived every moment of the encounter in Giles' courtyard. Sure, she could see now where she went wrong—why, she practically just hung there like a dead fish, letting him do all the work. If she wasn't  
so inexperienced she wouldn't have been as knocked out, as hopeless. Normal girls probably didn't get so overwhelmed that they couldn't even think just from a simple kiss.

The familiar depression settled over her like a weight. Oh, hello, she thought. So there you are again. I knew you'd be back. She sat on the steps, filled with inertia. Maybe she'd just sit here forever, and let everyone else figure things out. Spike wouldn't come back, so she wouldn't have to face seeing him at least. Now everyone knew why she was this way, what was wrong with her, maybe they'd leave her alone at least. Maybe she should let Willow fix her, just let her do whatever she wanted. Maybe she was right—she'd brought Buffy back, maybe it was just a matter of finishing the job.

But after sitting and wallowing for a while, she realized she just felt restless. She mentally felt around, searching for the smothering wet blanket sensation of the depression, and found... nothing. She probed her feelings of humiliation, and found nothing but a twinge. Spike doesn't want me, she thought experimentally. He hated our kiss. And not only did she not feel the rejection, she felt... well, ridiculous.

Come on! She thought. Spike not want me? Spike not coming back? She laughed at herself a little, feeling better. But she quickly fell quiet again, worried. Okay, she was letting her insecurities get the better of her brain, but something was up. And it wasn't just Spike being in a snit. She knew he wanted her, he had said he loved her, even now as he left, but—but he had sounded so sad. She began to feel alarmed.

What had he said? That she didn't know him? But she knew him, of course she did. He was Spike, what was there to know... he said he'd changed, but she knew that, sure. Wasn't it her who had defended him to the others? Who had trusted him, had let him live when his chip failed? But he said that she didn't know him—he wanted her to take the sea serpent seriously. The enemy! Who had been kidnapping them, casting spells on them! Why would she listen to someone like that? Typical Spike, to expect her to take the bad guys seriously.... I guess if I were the bad guy, like him, I'd have more sympathy for them too, she thought. But he couldn't really think that she needed his guidance to be—what had they said? Stable? She scoffed to herself. Like I need lessons in stability and temper control from William the Bloody, hah.

But had he really been hurt that she hadn't taken that seriously? Had he really been hurt? He was always so... well, she knew he had strong feelings, but not—well she didn't think of him as getting his feelings hurt, the way she would worry about Willow or Xander. Could a soulless person even feel hurt? But Spike claimed to have lots of feelings... and she'd seen him, when she'd come back, and Dawn had told her how he had been, after she died. So okay, Spike had feelings. So maybe he really was in love with her too, okay, think about that one later. Anyway, so he'd been hurt, just now. And maybe he'd been serious, about whatever it was that was. What would you call that, dumping her? But what should she do about it?

Was he right, that she didn't know him? He did always seem to know what she was thinking, whereas she... she never knew what anyone was thinking. It was Angel all over again. Except... well Spike wasn't anything like Angel. He always told her what was on his mind, everything she asked and then plenty more. So she should know him, maybe. Maybe she wasn't listening well enough—much as she'd come to depend on him and lately, more, he was—well, just Spike.

She felt a rush of shame. He was right. Not about the fish people—that was a bit much—but she hadn't been fair to him. She should take him more seriously, and especially the fact that he had changed. She didn't know what it meant, to have no soul and still try to be good, but it was worth something that he tried. And, well... maybe, even if he didn't always do a perfect job—well wasn't it worth more, really, that he did it without a soul than if someone else did a better job with a soul?

Oh hell, she thought, now I'm confusing myself I'm going in circles so much.

She stood, stretching, and went inside the house. Instead of heading up to bed, though, she went into the downstairs bathroom. The creature in the tub shrank back, small eyes widening in alarm. Buffy sighed as she sat down on the toilet, facing the prisoner.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” she told it, annoyed. They sat in silence for a bit, regarding each other, and after a few minutes, the demon relaxed a bit.

Buffy stared searchingly at it, but couldn't find any clues to its thoughts. Finally she sighed again, and began to talk.

“I don't know why I'm bothering with this. If Willow and Tara can't get through to you I'm not going to be able to. Only, well, I talked to your, uh, I guess your mom. And she said some weird stuff about what you all are doing here, or what you want I guess. She didn't really say why you were here in the first place I guess... But she thought I was unstable. I guess you're scared of me too. Well, I'm the Slayer—it's my job to go around killing demons! So I don't really think a demon calling me unstable is exactly called for!

“Only... well, maybe I didn't need to kill that one guy, your brother. I guess maybe he wasn't doing anything, and I, I kind of over-reacted. Only that's what I'm supposed to do! I'm supposed to find demons and kill them—right? So if they aren't doing anything, should I not? What if then they go and kill someone? If Spike got his chip out, and I let him live, what does that mean? Do I have to start interviewing vamps before I dust them? Is it... am I a murderer? I kill, all the time, I kill and kill, but that's... it's what I'm supposed to do....”

Buffy trailed off, burying her head in her hands. She didn't want to die anymore, Tiamat had been right about that; but it had been easier, just letting go of all these questions. They had started running through her mind in an endless loop last year, and she had gotten nowhere, still, in answering them. When she had realized what it meant, that death was her gift, she had been so relieved! But now, back again, to the same old go-around. She saved lives, every day, but she did it by killing. What was she? How did you draw the line? She almost forgot where she was, chasing the same old questions around and around, so when she heard a voice in her head, awkwardly pronouncing her name, she briefly froze in alarm before realizing who was addressing her.

The figure in the tub looked at her. “You are so confused, and our mother seeks to help you. You saw her, so you know this. You say you are good; why do you still keep me here? This is not where I belong. I want to go back to the sea, my mother. Will you kill me? Will I die here, on land?”

Buffy relaxed, though remaining wary. “Your mother... said she wanted to help, yes. But I don't... she's been following us. And knocking us out and erasing our memories! Not real helpful or helping with the big trust. Do you understand?”

“I understand perfectly. Do you?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Buffy asked, growing frustrated. “What is it with you demons and your riddles—why can't you just say what you mean?”

“Your way of speaking is strange to me, also, and I am trying to be clear. Do you not see why our methods were necessary? We needed to know what and who we were... dealing with? And we needed to insure that you would not hurt us any further when we attempted to contact you. That is all. Have we done anything so terrible to you, in fact?”

“You... you can't just play around with people's memories...”

“But your own witch has done just that, has she not? She has been in your head; we saw the traces. She has probed and searched...”

“Yeah but that's... it was consensual. I knew she was going to.” Buffy protested weakly, thinking of what this fish would have to say if it knew what Willow had gotten up to in Buffy's brain since it had been captured.

The fish, as Buffy thought of her, did not reply.

“Fine,” Buffy finally said. “But I'm not a, a loose cannon. I'm just doing my job. And I don't really see what kind of whacked out idea putting a soulless killer to watch over me is!”

“She asked that your vampire be your keeper? That is logical. In our observations of you, we have seen that he has exerted a moderating influence on your behavior. Additionally, you listen to his thoughts and look to him for support. Why do you object to this choice of guardian? Is there another who you think would be better able to nurture your return to this world?”

“I don't need a keeper at all. And I object because he's... he has no conscience. How could he guide me? The only reason he doesn't do anything bad for you guys to see is because of me, he's doesn't even know what it means to be good!”

“You are mistaken. We have seen into his heart, and you are deceived. You are overly concerned with what you think should be and you do not see what is.”

“And again with the riddles!” Buffy snapped. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you look but you do not see. You let him know you but you see only a facade, you do not see who is there in reality. You do not wish to, and this shows that you are unready.”

And the captive would say no more. Buffy railed at her for a few minutes, frustrated, but eventually left, heading out the front door and into the dark. She started walking towards the cemetery, on auto pilot, but changed course soon to head for the beach. She needed some time to think—she wasn't ready to see Spike again yet.

Despite her complaining, she had gotten the gist of the water demon's line of thinking. She just didn't agree. Did she? She tried to think it through rationally. But she was the Slayer! She didn't much care for the council and their teachings, but some things were just true—weren't they? Why did she need to look twice to know what Spike was, when she knew what he was? Only, well... it was Spike. And she'd already thrown out so many of those ideas, for him. So which was it?

She was being told that his facade was not the reality. But what was Spike's facade? He told her everything, all the time, whether she asked or not—didn't he? But what did she actually know about him? What the Watchers knew, but beyond that...

Buffy walked, and she thought. She tried to remember everything, ever, that had happened between her and Spike, that she had ever known about him. There were some memories that made her clench her fists and walk harder; but overall, she was surprised at what she found. She was amazed at how many things she had assumed to be true, that they all had, and he had merely left uncorrected. Why would he not stand up for himself? Why did he want them to think he was worse than he was? It had to be some kind of evil vampire thing she would never understand, she thought, then stopped herself. No. That was exactly the kind of thinking she needed to stop, if... if she wanted Spike to... she couldn't quite finish the thought. What she wanted from Spike, she didn't know. But she had hurt him, after all that he had done for her, and he was right. She had been unfair. So that was reason enough to try to change. There didn't need to be more.

But did that mean she had to accept the monsters' proposition? What did they even want? They wanted Spike to watch over her. Well, would that be so terrible? It wasn't like he could force her to do anything she didn't want to, not really. It would just be the same as now, pretty much, only he'd be all smirky and know-it-all-y, probably. Well, big deal, he already was, anyway. And then the creatures would go away and they could all get back to, well to fighting other monsters, but still. She'd have done her job, sort of—it didn't actually matter how she got rid of demons did it? Like, where did it say she had to kill them, specifically?

Suddenly she was startled out of her reverie by the awareness that she wasn't alone on the beach. She spun around, her heel digging into the soft sand, only to release her breath in a puff.

“Spike,” she laughed, “you startled me...,” but his slumped shoulders and unsmiling look stopped her, and she felt pangs of guilt. He looked as solemn as she had ever seen him, and he didn't meet her eyes.

“No, wait,” she said hurriedly, “I've been thinking—about what you said—don't worry! I'm not, you were...”

“Buffy, stop,” he broke in seriously. “You don't have to—I was wrong. What I asked you to do—I know you can't. You're the Slayer and it's wired in to you, I know. I know what I am. I don't need your trust, I don't deserve it. If it's not too late, if you'll still have me, you don't need to change. You're bloody perfect how you are, it's me should be apologizing to you, every night. So...just forget it, can you? What I said before? Is it too late, Buffy? Did I botch it for good this time?”

Buffy smiled and reached for him. “No, no, it isn't too late, but you don't understand, I was going to tell you...”

But what she meant to tell him was lost as he grabbed her almost desperately, and pressed his lips to hers, murmuring hoarsely and trailing kisses down her throat as she gasped. “It doesn't matter, it's nothing, it's all nothing, just so it isn't too late. Just don't take this away, just let me...”

She tried to resist—she had to tell him! He should know! But her resolve crumbled as her knees weakened and she surrendered to the sensation of his lips painting a trail of fire across her collarbone. She knotted her fingers in his hair and dragged his lips to her own, trying to put everything she'd thought, all her regrets for not seeing, not believing in him, into the kiss. They would talk later but now... now was glorious. Perfect.

They sank to the sand, locked together and panting, fingers scrabbling for purchase as they pulled at clothes, trying to touch one another, to bring themselves skin to skin. Spike pulled back and slowed the pace, maneuvering his duster beneath them as a blanket, then tenderly lowering Buffy onto it. She reached to pull him close again, but he held himself away. Propped on his elbow next to her he traced her eyebrow and down her neck, looking reverently at her flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

She felt a surge of feeling for him, for this—what was he? A man, a creature? For this friend, whatever he was, who had stood by her, waited for her, who made her feel so valued and treasured. She wanted to give him something, to repay him. Pushing him back, she wriggled atop him, smiling at his look of alarm.

“Slayer—Buffy—no, let me...”

“Not yet,” she smiled. “This time, let me.” And bent to kiss him.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for chapter 17—total porn!! Right here and now, at the very beginning! On the one hand, a little bit of a sudden departure—but on the other hand, long overdue in my opinion. And maybe yours too. So, hopefully you enjoy, and it isn't too shocking to anyone's delicate sensibilities.....

He lay back, shocked, as she tangled her hands in his hair, fingertips trailing over his sensitive earlobes, while running her tongue over his lips and plunging it into his mouth. Whatever he had dreamed this could be like—he hadn't known to imagine this. He had spent a century pursuing pleasure, taking whatever he fancied, but he had never found anything that felt so intoxicating as this simple kissing, as her body atop his. She rolled her hips until he thought he might go mad, and the the scent of her arousal overwhelmed him. When he tried to run his hands up under her shirt she grasped the wrists with a playful little scowl. He had never seen anything so cute in all his years as her face as she pinned his arms to the ground with a stern look.

“Nuh, uh” she admonished, and returned to teasing him. Her hips continued to gyrate in a slow pattern that he could tell was having the same effect on her as it was on him, and their kisses became more deliberate, deeper. Her could feel her gasping as he thrust up against her, and she rubbed her chest across his, exciting herself with the sensation caused by her erect nipples grazing against him. Suddenly it was too much, she had to feel him, skin to skin.

Straddling him, she sat up, and after another little pelvic swivel, she pulled her shirt slowly over her head. Looking into Spike's awed eyes, she unhooked her bra in the back and tossed it aside. She batted his hands aside and ran her own fingers up her ribs and across the underside of her breasts. She could hear him panting in time with her own gasps as she fingered her nipples and ground against him, hard. She was beyond maintaining control of things, could only moan when he grabbed her waist and flipped her onto her back with a growl.

“My turn,” he purred seductively, and the glint in his eye caused a renewed rush of heat between her legs. She squirmed with pleasure as he whipped off his shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest to her greedy eyes. As she watched, breathing heavily, he unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them a bit lower on his narrow hips. She reached to finish the job, mesmerized by the thin line of hair trailing towards the bulge under his fly, but he stopped her.

“Nuh-uh,” he echoed, teasingly. She watched as he stood and deliberately inched the zipper down, freeing himself for her inspection. She was wide eyed as he bobbed free, and as soon as he got his ankles free she reached for him again.

“So pretty,” she murmured, startling him.

“Pretty? Not really what every bloke wants to hear, love,” he teased, though plainly not actually worried. He watched with a look of satisfaction as she wrapped her fingers around his cock, but a moment later succumbed to her touch, letting his head fall back as he gasped. “Oh bloody hell love, call it whatever you like...”

“Not pretty like girly...just...just perfect,” Buffy mumbled, lost in appreciation of the his nudity. His strong thighs were splayed to either side of her, dusted with light hairs, and his sculpted chest heaved with unnecessary breath. She leaned forward and ran her tongue experimentally over his nipple, smirking a little when he shuddered and gripped her arms bruisingly.

A moment later, she squeaked with shock when he clamped his naked thighs around her and flipped her down onto her back once more. He had a wicked gleam in his eyes as he ran his hands over her bare chest, tweaking her nipples for a moment, then continuing on down to her skirt.

“Bit too covered up, don't you think, pet?” he asked as he began to unzip and undress her. She shivered with delight as his cool hands smoothed her skirt, tights and panties off in single motion. He cradled her feet briefly as they were exposed, sending tingles up her legs, then ran his hands back up the inside of her calves and thighs. She felt a moment of self consciousness, suddenly realizing that she was completely naked on the beach and that Spike was opening her to him and looking intently between her legs as if he were memorizing her. But then he looked up and met her eyes and it went away. She was with Spike. He would take care of her, of everything. It was okay.

They stilled, looking at one another. Buffy held her breath and they were quiet, the sound of the waves suddenly deafening. Looking into Spike's eyes at that moment, Buffy, in the midst of her feeling of calm, felt something change. Knew that she would need to come back to this, that she had had a thought that was important. Then Spike smirked and lowered his head, laving her wet folds in a sweeping stroke. She gasped and cried out and he dove in, licking and suckling her until she thrashed and moaned. The feeling of his cool tongue against her burning heat was unbelievable, the temperature soothing her even as his actions whipped her into a frenzy.

She couldn't believe the sounds she was making, and some part of her was shocked to see herself writhing around, completely out of control. She'd enjoyed sex before, plenty, but she'd always been—well, in possession of herself! She should...

Spike took her clit into his mouth and sucked, flicking at it with the tip if his—very talented—tongue. She screamed, convulsing and throbbing. It felt like the waves of sensation went on and on; every time her body began to calm he would suckle a little more, pinch at her nether lips with his long fingers, and she would succumb once more, until finally she was wrung out and limp, and he slid up her body.

She whimpered softly, running her hands over his strong back.

“Not all worn out yet, are you pet?” he murmured wickedly. “Slayer stamina should be good for more than one go, don't you think? Let's find out, shall we?” And he smoothly sheathed himself in her. She gasped as he filled and stretched her throbbing cunt, only to moan in amazed pleasure as he began to move.

“Oh god Spike, I—oooh, yes! More!”

He obliged, happily. He had never felt anything like her before—the heat and fire he associated with her, always, was amplified until he felt he could drown in her. The feel of her, the scent and taste of her were heaven, the noises she was making were unbelievable—he could barely control himself—he buried his face in her neck, nipping and suckling and breathing in her scent as her muscles gripped his cock rhythmically, and fought with all he had in him not to bite.

“Yes, yes, yes, oh god do that, oooh Spike yes, oh, don't stop,” she was chanting unceasingly, pausing only to pant shallowly. Her cries grew louder and more urgent until suddenly she reached behind him, scoring his shoulders painfully with her nails. Shouting in surprise and pleasure, he bit her neck involuntarily with his blunt human teeth. As he bit down, her orgasm squeezed his cock, and she screamed and pressed her hand to the back of his head, preventing him from pulling away. Moaning, dazed with happy disbelief, he continued to bite down. Combined with her slick wetness convulsing around him, it was too much—with a hoarse yell he pumped harder, spurred on by her mewling and keening, and throwing his head back, exploded.

As he collapsed, halfway on top of her, but keeping his weight carefully to the side, he felt her arms gently cradling him. She nuzzled gently at his neck, kissing him in soft little pecks. Shocked, he raised himself to look into her face.

“Buffy, what are you...? You don't have to, to do that, it's...” he trailed off, uncertain.

She smiled beatifically at him, with a soft look in her eye he had never seen before. “Don't have to what?” she murmured sleepily. “Mmmmm...that was—mmmm.” She leaned in and kissed his lips, eyes and cheek before settling back. “So...you were following me?”

He tried to pull away but her gentle grip tightened and held him securely against her.

“I, no, I just came to find you. And about that, I meant what I said—you don't have to do this, this lot. I can just shove off and make like this never...” his eyes darted away from hers nervously. She gripped harder.

“Yeah, well I had something to say too, Spike. So I got a little sidetracked...mmmm, sidetracked...” she let her eyes glaze, but snapped out if it quickly and refocused, her green eyes boring intently into his blue ones. “Listen up, buster, cause I don't want to have to say this more than once. Okay, here goes,” she breathed in dramatically—“I was wrong. You were right. I'm sorry. Okay?”

Spike gazed uncertainly at her, canting his head slightly to the side and knitting his brow. “And when you say you were wrong, then...” he offered, tentatively.

“I mean,” she said firmly, “that you have changed. That I should have given you more credit. And I am...I'm willing to let you keep an eye on me if it makes those demons happy and I'm sorry I said it was ridiculous,” she finished in a muttered rush of breath.

He laughed and tweaked her nose.

“Well, well,” he said, with an attempt at his usual smug confidence, but she could hear the uncertainty beneath. “Had a change of heart didya? Who woulda thought. So you gonna tell all your pals you're being babysat by old Spikey, then? Do I get to punish you if you stray from the path of righteousness, little girl?” he leered, pinching her bare behind.

She giggled and swatted his hand away, batting at it as he continued to try to grab at her. They tussled gently for a few minutes, shamelessly enjoying the skin to skin contact. But after a moment she banded her arms around his, holding him still once more.

“Don't push your luck, buster. I'm going to really try to give you more credit and not keep thinking of you as evil, but this business of you watching me is...well, let's just keep things as are for now huh? I think I'm doing just spiffy on my own, lately, I just want to deal with this fish-napping sitch, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said distractedly. “Look, you know...the thing is, it's...I was really steamed that you were so bitchy about me having changed and everything...”

“Hey!”

“Well you were a right bint,” he said, but smiled to soften his insult. “But you weren't all wrong. I mean, I'm trying and damn, you try being good without a soul! Don't see old Angelus pulling that trick off, or anyone else, do you? But the thing is...well it's not so easy and sometimes I don't know...I don't know how to be sure, how to figure out what's right, yeah? I try, but you...just when I think I know how to do this, to be all straight and narrow, you come out with something I don't expect, and the thing is you're right, it is something I should've known. But without the soul, I just...it's hard. I never really know! So really, I mean we can tell this Tiamat whatever, but I probably shouldn't actually be all watcher boy, right?”

“You don't need to be. We'll just help each other out, huh? Same as now, only...only I'll be nice to you.”  
Buffy smiled. “And, maybe I can try to listen to you a little bit and you can help me understand...I mean, all I ever learned was, demons bad, kill demons. And you told me not to kill that guy, but....And, you know, I don't kill you. And where the hell does that leave me? So maybe we can, you know...figure it out?”

“Yeah,” Spike said looking thoughtful. “Yeah! You lot with the hack and slash...I mean, lots of blokes out there that aren't strictly human but deserve a break and—I could help. I could help! I could be useful!”

Buffy smiled tenderly at the look of wonder in his eyes, filled with emotion. She had been right. Giving Spike a chance had been the right thing to do, and this, them...it wasn't wrong. It was perfect. But that didn't mean she was looking forward to sharing the news that her and Spike were, well, whatever they were now. But that could wait until tomorrow, at least. She pulled him close and began to kiss him again.

`````````````````````````````````````````

It was nearly sunrise when the Slayer and the vampire tiptoed up to her bedroom, and it was late in the morning when Buffy awoke. She woke confused, surprised to have slept so soundly, but almost immediately registered the cool bulk beside her and remembered everything. It was a long time before she was able to tear herself away from the safe, happy feeling that snuggling so close to him gave her, but the demands of her body didn't let her stay in bed forever. He reached for her sleepily, but by sliding out very slowly and substituting a pillow for herself,she was able to rise without waking him. She stood and just looked down at him holding her pillow tight to his bare chest, and she felt overwhelmed by affection. Before she slipped out to the bathroom she bent over and kissed him softly on the lips.

Soon she was heading down the stairs, humming happily to herself and tightening the rubber bands on her damp braids, but the sight of Willow seated at the dining room table brought her up short, surprised.

“Oh hey, Wills,” she said, “I thought everyone'd be gone by now.”

The redhead looked up, her face drawn and her eyes tired. “I skipped out on classes. Just for today, it's no big thing. I won't get in your way, don't worry.”

“You're not in my way!” Buffy said. “What's going on? You look...is it Tara? Is she still upset with you? Cause I thought we worked stuff out, mostly, last night...”

“No, it isn't Tara. Tara's...she's amazing. I don't know why she stays with me...” and she began to sniffle, tears pooling and threatening to spill over.

“Hey! What...?” Buffy pulled a chair close to her friend and pulled her into a hug. “Willow, don't. I know I haven't been here for you, or, you know, here, lately, but you're still my best friend. And I'm here now. Do you wanna talk about, you know, stuff?”

“Oh Buffy, I don't know...I'm just such a mess. I mean, I get it now, sort of, why everyone's so mad at me, but....Oh, I just don't know. I sort of don't get it! I just want to help, to make things easier, for all of us. Is it so wrong to want you to be happy, to not have to be all traumatized, remembering something awful that happened to you? I mean yes, yes, I know, it isn't up to me—and I get that. I do. I wasn't thinking and now I really can't believe I was going to take your choice away from you. But...well, you all had to tell me! And what if, what if there's other stuff, why didn't I know? What if there's something else and it seems fine to me, but actually it's wrong? But I can't just check in with someone forever, every time I do anything! What's wrong with me? What's broken that I can't tell?”

She was crying outright by the end of her speech, and Buffy held her tighter.

“Um, whoa...” Buffy said. “Deja vu.”

“What?” Willow sniffled.

“Um, nothing...only...well I kind of had a conversation just like this, just...it seems weird, that's all.”

“You have some other out-of-control witch friend who wanted to meddle with your memories and told you they didn't know how to tell right from wrong anymore and they thought maybe they were broken and didn't have a soul anymore and cried all over you? Wow. The secret life of Buffy—no wonder you haven't been home much,” Willow joked, but she looked confused.

“Didn't have a soul anymore? What are you talking about?” Alarm made Buffy's voice a little more shrill than she would have preferred.

“No, no, it was a false alarm! Don't worry. I had thought...I mean, I just didn't know, after I did that spell to bring you back...you never, you don't know, but Buffy it was crazy! It was, there were snakes, and forces...well, it just got really intense. And then I thought maybe that like the reason I didn't know, anymore...but Tara said I still have a soul. So it's just me, no excuse. I'm just broken...” the tears resumed their flow down Willow's pale cheeks.

“Of course you have a soul!” Buffy protested in shock. “I mean...well....”

She trailed off. Willow looked curiously at her, but she was staring towards the middle of the room looking surprised.

“What is it?”

Buffy was slow to answer, but after a moment she turned towards Willow, her brow still knit in consternation.

“Well it's just...you know I said I felt kind of deja vu-y? Well, just last night Spike was kind of saying the same thing to me as you just did. About not knowing right from wrong, and being afraid he was missing things, not knowing how to tell...and you know, he said it was because he didn't have a soul, and I thought it was, of course. But he's good, even without a soul, and some people are bad, even with—no, not you! I didn't mean that! I just mean...like, you know, Hitler and stuff. And then you're saying the exact same thing, about not knowing how to tell....”

“It's not the same! I just...I can...Spike's evil! It's not the same at all, he kills people and all kinds of things, I would never kill anything—” but here Willow broke off.

“Look, don't get super mad, but—well, I don't think Spike's still evil. And I think maybe we have to get used to that. I mean, why does he bug you so much? Wasn't he helpful and stuff over the summer? And he's done a ton for us....”

“Why does he bug me?” Willow asked incredulously. “Buffy, he tried to bite me, to kill me, twice! And I'm not a Slayer, I'm not strong like you—I thought I was going to die, and I was helpless and it was scary and horrible. I had nightmares for years! I'm okay with him now, but why do you act like none of that ever happened?”

Buffy looked down, ashamed. “I'm sorry. You're right, I do forget...it wasn't ever like that for me, and then...But he seriously is so different now! You know that right? That he would never ever do that, not now? He won't say so, but he really cares about us.”

“I know Buff. I really am over it, kind of—it doesn't seem like he's still the same person, mostly. I just—I guess I've been jealous, too. Like he was your new best friend. But I get why you'd be mad at me, now....”

“I'm not mad at you! And...well it's not the same. The thing with Spike. It's not really a, uh, like a friend thing.”

“You mean it's some kind of demon thing, he can understand better what you went through and everything? I get it, I do, I mean--”

“Will,” Buffy cut in. “That's not what I meant. What I mean is...” she steeled herself. “I mean, it's not a friend thing. You know?”

“N-no, I don't...,” Willow said uncertainly. “Oh! Oh oh oh, you...you and Spike? Oh.” Her eyes were wide and shocked and her cheeks were red. “Um, and, uh...has this been going on...long?”

“No,” Buffy laughed a little, “it really really hasn't. Look, do you think...I mean I'm not saying it's the same! At all! But maybe even so, maybe you and Spike could, like, talk? About this stuff? I just...well he's gonna be around, more, and I want you guys to get along, and I really think maybe it could be helpful...?”

Willow was silent for long enough for Buffy to regret saying anything. It was too soon, and maybe it was really insensitive, after what her friend had just told her, and had she ruined everything?

But then Willow looked up and smiled. “Yeah, I guess maybe I could. Someone really smart told me recently that having a soul isn't all that matters, because the soul doesn't do the work for you. Maybe it's not really that big a deal, whether you have one or not? And hell Buffy, if an evil vampire can be good, I don't really have any excuse to screw up, do I?”

They laughed and Buffy hugged her again, squeezing her, so glad to have her back. She hadn't even realized how hard it was, being so distant, until now. She was shaken from her thoughts by Willow's squeaks of pain, and hurriedly released the protesting girl, who rubbed her ribs in mock reproval.

The two girls were in the kitchen, sitting on stools, drinking coffee and laughing, when Spike came downstairs later in the afternoon. Willow looked, astonished, from one to the other of them as they shyly said hello. How could she not have seen, before, what was going on? How had she been so wrapped up in herself, to think these two were just friends?

Buffy was incandescent; she smiled at Spike as if the whole world had disappeared, her eyes soft. And Spike—he mirrored it right back to her. Willow had never seen him look so human, so vulnerable. His eyes flickered away from Buffy to glance nervously at her, but Buffy ignored this and walked to him, pulling him into her arms. He cast another alarmed look at Willow, but then surrendered, closing his eyes as he lowered his face to Buffy's hair, breathing in her scent, enfolding her in his arms. Willow looked away quickly, feeling like she was intruding on something private, but before she did she thought she saw a tear in his eye, even as he smiled.

The pair didn't notice as she slipped out of the room; she heard the low murmur of their voices in intimate conversation as she headed upstairs.


	18. Chapter 18

Buffy paced impatiently across the beach, back and forth, back and forth, until Spike couldn't stand it anymore. Tossing his cigarette away, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. She let him pull her closer and turned towards him, laughing at herself for being so impatient. As she leaned in and raised her face to his for a kiss, Spike felt wondered if this miracle would last, could possibly last. His early days with Drusilla had been heady and wild and intoxicating, were the only thing in his life that approached the intensity of this, but being with Buffy was nothing like that. This was light where that had been shadows and dark; this was laughter where that had been violence. He felt giddy and entirely un-vampire-like with Buffy; being with her made him feel human, light-hearted.

As he kissed her she leaned in and gave a little purr, stepping closer to him. He heard her friends arrive in the distance, but took his time kissing her slowly and thoroughly. When she had melted completely into his arms and forgotten all about her rush, he pulled away.

“They're here,” he informed her, “we should let em know where we're at.”

“Oh finally!” she said, and took off towards the parking lot. Spike ambled along more slowly behind her, trying to will his erection to subside; by the time he got to the edge of the sand, the gang was all out of the two cars they had driven over and engaged in loading out their captive. The prisoner was more animated than Spike had yet seen any of the fishy creatures be—he could see her practically vibrating with her desire to get back to the waves crashing just a stone's throw away.

They assembled near the waterline and stood about for a few moments while Tara, Willow and Giles laid out some herbs and crystals. When they were satisfied with the arrangements, Tara stepped forward and said a few words, finishing with a sweeping circle of her arms.

“It's done,” she said, “the bindings are released.” She moved to where Xander and Buffy held the straining prisoner, and stood before her.

“We're letting you go now,” she said, looking intently at the demon. “I know you can understand—please, we just want you to let Tiamat know that we have agreed to accept her terms...” Xander made a noise of displeasure, frowning at Spike.

“We have agreed to the terms,” Tara repeated firmly, “and in return, we ask that she take all of you and go elsewhere, out to sea, away from the human lands. We hope you will convey our message.”

The witch continued to look searchingly at the anxious demon, but when she didn't get a response she stepped back, sighing. Xander and Buffy released the being's arms and stepped back. The creature stood quite still for a second after being freed, then touched her flipper-like arm to Tara's head fleetingly, and melted away into the surf quicker than the group would have thought possible.

“Well,” Anya said matter-of-factly, “that was certainly anti-climatic. I'm going to go try to wipe all the sea water out of the back of Xander's car before it dries all over the seats and ruins them. Are you guys coming, or what?”

“Well, yes,” Giles said. “It is rather—well, it's a shame there isn't some way of knowing whether they will actually leave or not. If someone could—well, you don't have to breathe...” he mused, regarding Spike thoughtfully.

“Doesn't mean I want to go for a trip to the bottom of the ocean, mate! You want to, what, tie weights to my feet? No thanks. Reckon we'll know they're gone cause they'll stop hanging about and whatnot. And if we can't even tell they're here, it doesn't much matter anyway, am I right?”

“Hmm, yes; I suppose,” murmured Giles, as the two men turned to make their way off the beach.

Willow was following when Tara, at her side, suddenly slumped into a faint; Willow half caught her and Xander quickly took the rest of her weight in time to keep her from falling. They all looked at one another, frightened. Tara's eyes were slightly open, but she was out cold.

Spike stared at the unconscious witch, a creeping feeling of betrayal stealing over him. He had really believed that bitch of a demon, had thought she was just misunderstood—was he that much of a fool? Had he believed it because he wanted to so badly, wanted to believe demons could be good, worthwhile? Because she'd also said he was good and he'd wanted to believe that so much? Without that push, that vote of confidence, would he be where he was now, with Buffy? Should he be? God he was such a gullible prat, this was all his fault! And now Tara, gentle Tara, the best of them all, would pay for it. The rage and shame twisted his insides, made him feel desperate to escape his thoughts.

Spinning on his heel, he bolted towards the surf, screaming profanities at the top of his lungs as he splashed through the waves, struggling awkwardly out into the water.

“All right you bloody bitch of a fishwife, that's it! I'm bloody well coming after you so get ready for this, I don't sodding care if I can't fight you down there, I will, I'll, I'll latch my teeth into your goddamn scaly flesh and drain you until you fix this, you can't do this.... What the hell do you want with Tara anyway, you should be bloody well thanking her for what she did for your precious daughter, you should...you...”

After a moment of frozen shock Buffy had realized what Spike was up to and gone after him. They were waist deep before she caught up to him and began tugging at him.

“Spike, Spike! Snap out of it—you can't go down there. And you just said a second ago you wouldn't do that, and weights on your feet, and, and we'll figure this out. We'll wake her up, we'll find out what's going on. I said we should release the hostage and I stand by it. It will be okay. Spike, calm the fuck down already!”

He was still struggling with her, but half-heartedly.

“Dammit Buffy, let go of me, would you? It's my bloody fault, I wanted to believe all this rot, and now look. Now look what's happened, and we're right back where we started, with nothing. Nothing! No way to fight them, no clue how to get to them...”

“You're wrong, Spike. I'm sure of it—I know it! You said I should listen to her, and I did, but not just because you said to; because you were right. I felt it, that it was right, I know it. This looks bad, but we don't know anything yet. It may not be at all. Just, let's, just come on?”

Spike reached out blindly and pressed her to him, kissing her desperately. As the touch of her lips simultaneously inflamed him and calmed his thoughts, he heard voices calling to them from the beach.

“We better go back, love,” he said, smoothing her hair back with a wet hand. She looked confused by his abrupt change of demeanor, but Willow's voice reached them clearly, yelling Buffy's name, and she turned to head towards the group on the beach.

As they slogged soddenly back out of the water, they could hear Tara's quiet voice. Rushing forward, they found Tara standing groggily, still clutching Xander, but getting her footing again; she was reassuring the anxious faces around her as best as she was able.

“I'll tell you, don't worry—but it wasn't a big deal, i-it's not a, there's no danger. They won't do it again. It was just because I'd cared for Synthin—that was her name, the hostage, she told me! A-and it w-was just that. I'm, can we just, let's just go home?” she looked appealingly around the group, who hurriedly began competing to help her to the cars.

Willow held her close and didn't let anyone question her on the ride home, and when they got back to the Summers house there was much confusion. Spike and Buffy, who had gotten to the beach on Spike's motorcycle and therefore not had to get any of the cars wetter than they already were, went upstairs to change into dry clothes while the rest of the gang bustled around downstairs, tucking blankets around a protesting Tara and fixing hot chocolate.

Spike followed Buffy into her room, boots squelching, and began shedding clothes in the middle of the floor. She looked at him, eyes wide.

“What do you think you're doing?” she squeaked. “We need to get back down there and find out what happened to Tara, and everyone's right here...”

“Relax, Slayer,” he drawled, enjoying her discomfort. “Just gonna change into something a little less sodden, yeah? You got a robe or something around here?”

“I, uh...” she stared at him, her thoughts disorganized. As she struggled to respond he pulled his tee over his head and slid his wet jeans down. She watched him bend to tug at the ankles and gave up on thinking, sinking down on the edge of her bed to appreciate the view.

He straightened, his pale flesh completely bared, and strolled over to her, clearly enjoying her gaze. Pulling her to her feet, her slid his hands under the edge of her top and began pulling it up.

“Eeee, Spike, your hands are freezing!” she complained.

“Cold all over love,” he murmured, “help a bloke out?” But he rubbed his hands together and held them up for her to breathe on before applying himself to the rest of her wet things.

She sighed dreamily as he slid her thong down, her eyes losing focus and drifting half closed; so she missed the mischievous glint in his as he pulled back for a moment before swooping in and lifting her off her feet, tossing her to the bed and leaping atop her. She cried out loudly then tried to clap her hand to her mouth, alarmed, but he had captured her wrists and pinned them over her head, using his own hand to cover her mouth.

“Uh, uh,” he said, “better not be making all that noise, someone'll come looking for you. In fact, they're probably gonna come looking for you any minute now anyway. Let's hope they don't come through that door and see this, hmmm?”

She was making disapproving, demanding noises under his hand and glaring, but wriggling in way that didn't exactly suggest an attempt to break his hold on her. He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered softly.

“Guess we'll just have to be quick, hmm?” and took the lobe between his teeth. She breathed in sharply and pressed up against him, her legs spreading so he was pressed into her wet heat. His hips jerked involuntarily as he gritted his teeth, his head falling to her neck. He groaned, trying to be quiet.

“God you're wet, so wet for me, and hot... you set me on fire, you make me...oooh god yes,” as she squirmed under him, maneuvering until his cock just dipped into her opening. Keeping one hand over her mouth, he released her wrists, using his free hand to squeeze each of her nipples in turn. She thrashed, panting, and pulled him towards her with her strong legs, her ankles crossed against his ass.

Abandoning his teasing, he slid slowly into her. As he sheathed himself to his hilt they both froze, exchanging a single look of awed ecstasy. He let his hand slide from her mouth and both of hers went around his neck as she pulled his lips to hers. As their tongues twined tenderly he began to move, slowly at first, then faster as her eyes slid closed. He ground against her with every thrust, and within moments she was biting him and struggling to muffle the sounds she couldn't contain. Mindful of the need to be downstairs, he reached between them, running his hand over her chest and down to her quim where he swirled his thumb over her clit. She went rigid at once, biting down hard on his shoulder as she thrust against him, convulsing. He tried to hold out, to extend her orgasm for as long as he could, but it was too much for him; gripping her fiercely, he let go and exploded inside her.

As he regained a sense of himself, he could feel her silken walls twitching around him with aftershocks. He gave a lazy stroke, prompting a disbelieving moan. Smirking proudly, he pulled out.

“Sorry love, but that's gonna have to wait a little longer. Scoobies waiting, ring any bells?”

“Oh god,” she moaned. Then, more alert, “Oh geez, how long has it been—do you think they heard? Oh my god my door isn't even locked, what if Dawn...we have to go down there!”

“Yep, we do. But I don't much fancy wearing your togs, so do you have a robe or summat I could put on while this lot dries?”

“Oh, right...” she said, looking around.

They came down the stairs soon after to find the previous chaos had subsided. The gang were all settled in the living room, looking cozy; the television was on, and they were cradling mugs of hot chocolate.

“Mmmm, chocolatey goodness!” Buffy said brightly. “Any more of that around?”

“Oh there you are; yes, well, perhaps in the kitchen, we weren't sure if you would want...”

Giles trailed off as Buffy left the room quickly, trying to ignore Willow's eyebrow raising and winking from behind Giles. Spike winked back at the witch cheerfully and headed for the basement with his armload of wet clothes, his bare feet silent on the carpet.

Dawn looked sharply between them, then jumped up and followed. “Are you naked under there? Why are you wearing Buffy's robe? It's pink!”

And, when they got to the kitchen, and Spike had come back up the stairs from the drier, “All right, what's going on? Seriously you guys. Why is Spike naked and what's with the winking? I'm not blind you know! Is something going on here?”

Buffy and Spike looked awkwardly at each other, he raising his hands and stepping back, with silent eloquence. Buffy turned to Dawn.

“Dawn, I didn't... I was hoping we could talk about this in a more...”

She was interrupted by a squeal of delight and Dawn's arms thrown around her.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod this is so cool! I love you two, ohmygod! Can Spike move in with us?”

The teen hurled herself towards Spike, her arms wide, but he caught her and held at arms length, looking alarmed.

“Right, maybe we can hold off on the hugging till I'm a bit better clothed then, yeah? Glad you're happy and all though, Bit, you know I want the best for you two,” he added, growing serious. “I don't want to muck anything up for either of you girls, and I don't need to be moving in with you or anything, you hear? Just want to help out you and your big sis however I can.”

Buffy smiled at him, and Dawn watched the two of them, fascinated. “Wow. Wow, just...I'm gonna leave you two alone! To, to be alone—yay!” With a last squeal of happiness she skipped back towards the living room.

“We're not—we're just making hot chocolate!” Buffy called after her, but then shrugged and went back to the stove.

She carried their mugs out to the living room on a tray, trailed by Spike, who started to sit in his usual fashion—straddling a low seat—but was brought up by Xander's yells of dismay. Pulling the robe around himself, he settled in a chair off to the side, Anya's gaze fixed interestedly on his bare legs.

“All right then,” he said, pulling the pink terrycloth a bit tighter around his legs, “if we're all quite done trying to get a look at my bits—”

“Really didn't want to—trying not to here, so I don't have to burn my eyes out with hot pokers!” Xander broke in.

“Yes, well, if you children are all quite settled,” Giles said dryly, “perhaps we can discuss the matter at hand? Tara, would you like to tell us about your experience with the, ah, with Tiamat?”

Tara related the story, though she had already gone over most of it with the others while Buffy and Spike had been upstairs, and she answered their questions as well as she could. She had woken up underwater, face to face with Tiamat and the demon who had been their prisoner—Synthin—and they had spoken to her. They had explained the kidnapping and mind scans they'd used on Buffy and Spike, saying they needed to know what their true hearts were, their intentions, and Tara seemed satisfied that she understood how they had been returned to their beds. She reassured them that it had all been fairly harmless minor magic, and had not involved any demons coming into the house, for example. The underwater folk had confirmed that they would be leaving, and thanked her for taking care of Synthin and for her kindness. She blushed and stammered a little, repeating the praise, but was clearly pleased about that. In general, though, she seemed uncomfortable and anxious to drop the whole subject. So when they had gone over everything, and all the questions being asked were receiving the same answer of “I don't know, I'm sorry,” Willow stepped in protectively and announced that it was bedtime.

The group broke up, Xander and Anya leaving together, Dawn heading up to bed, and Giles heading out last, though not without a glance at Spike sprawling on the couch, bare chested and relaxed. Buffy began clearing dishes and piling them in the sink; hearing a noise, she looked up to find Tara standing in the doorway leading to the living room, looking worried.

“Oh hey, I thought you went to bed,” she offered. “Are you, uh, is everything okay? Are you feeling freaked out about what happened?”

“No, no, not that,” she said. “It's... Buffy, there's something else. I lied. They said something else. But I really want to tell Willow, I don't want to lie to her, but I wanted to talk to you about it first. So is there—can we go out on the back porch maybe?”

“Yeah, of course,” Buffy said, heading out the back door immediately. “Tara, what is it?”

“Okay,” Tara said when they were seated on the steps. “So when they thanked me, they also wanted to thank, uh, Spike—only they called him William, did you know that was his name? Before?”

“Yeah, William the Bloody he used to be called sometimes, in the old diaries and stuff,” Buffy said. “And they called him that when we were down there too.”

“Right. Well, anyway, they—she gave me something. To give to him, like a gift, sort of. They said he'd earned it, or that he was going to earn it maybe? But I wasn't sure if I should... I didn't know what to do.”

“A gift? Did you—do you have it? Where is it?”

“No, it's not, not like that. It isn't a thing, it's something that's inside me now. T-that I can do, if I choose. They said I would know, I would do the right thing. But Buffy, I don't want to choose, I can't be the one...”

“What is it, Tara?!” Buffy asked, growing increasingly alarmed. “What can you do?”

“The chip,” she said. “I can make the chip be gone, forever.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy was frozen with confusion and anxiety. Her first reaction was one of panic, loss—no! If Spike got the chip out, she would lose him! She would have to kill him, or he would just leave, there wouldn't be anything to tie him here, to them, any longer. And then shame, that she would still think that, think of staking him—after all they'd only just been through. After her sincere words and promises, her insistence that she believed him, believed in him. After he had told her what it was, what it meant to him to have the chip. She couldn't deny him this, could she? It would be as cruel as the experiment that had shackled him in the first place...

But could she trust him, really? This much? And even if she did, what would she tell the others? She burned with embarrassment that that would even matter, but it did, she couldn't imagine telling them, the conversations she would have to endure... How could she make this decision? She could well imagine that Tara didn't want to have to figure out what to do—neither did she! And then, suddenly, it was totally clear to her what she needed to do.

“Don't worry, Tara,” she said calmly. “Go upstairs, tell Willow everything, and we'll talk about this more tomorrow. We don't need to solve it right now, and there's something I need to do to work it out.”

“W-what are you going to do?” Tara asked hesitantly.

“I'm going to talk to Spike. We're going to figure out what to do together.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, y'all; here it is. The very last chapter! It's nice and long, but it is the end. Thank you so much for reading all this, anyone who's made it this far. I guess this is my Christmas gift to you, so I hope you like it. There's a little bit more note from me at the end, so for now, I'll hush....

Buffy found Spike pulling his clothes out of the drier, and waited, openly ogling him. When he was dressed, he pulled the robe back on over top, saying defensively that it was “right cozy.” When he seemed done, she took his hand and pulled him out to the porch. He followed, looking at her curiously.

“What's this about, love? If you're trying to tell me to get back to my crypt, well I wasn't gonna stay... I mean, unless you wanted me to?”

“What? No, you should stay! But, well, maybe you won't want to—or, well I don't know. There's something we have to talk about though.”

“Making me nervous, pet. Spill it out already, yeah?”

Buffy told him what Tara had told her, watching Spike's face become still and expressionless. When she was done she waited anxiously for him to respond. Minutes passed. Finally he cleared his throat, and spoke softly.

“So, you told me this...because you thought I should know? That they were grateful? That it, more or less?”

“What? I mean, yes...”

“Right then, you told me. Did your duty and all. Thanks pet. Let's be getting in then, shall we?” He began to rise. Buffy pulled him back down, peering at his face.

“Spike, what are you—what do you think is going on here, exactly?”

“You told me all about it—cheers! What do you want from me, love? You want me to be happy? I told you how I feel about this...but I've tried to get used to it, to accept it, and things are—well, it's not so bad,” he ran his eyes over her deliberately, heating her cheeks, “so I don't really need to be dwelling on the impossible. That's all. So can we just drop it then?”

“Spike. I'm asking you what we should do. I want us to talk about this, decide together if we should do this or not. Do you understand?”

Silence. Spike looked at her as if she were speaking in tongues. She caught a glimpse of his jaw tightening and his face contorted with an unfamiliar expression before he turned away from her. When he brought himself around to face her again, he was controlled once more, but his eyes shone with a kind of wonder.

“That's...Buffy, you don't know what that means to me. That you would say that. But I know you can't do it. I understand, and... well I don't want you to stake me either, or to try. I don't want to fight you, I can't. I couldn't... I just—now especially—I don't want to change things. It's...all right. Really.”

“I don't want—I mean I am talking about changing things, but not, not us things. I just think—you're right. I should trust you more, and you have worked really hard and changed a lot, and I think maybe this is something we should talk about. I'm offering to trust you, to trust you to be good, if you tell me that I can.”

Spike couldn't hide the tears that welled up in his eyes, this time. He stood angrily, hiding his face and pacing, lighting a cigarette. His head was spinning. He'd been so happy, with Buffy, felt like he had everything he wanted—he'd almost forgotten, for a few minutes here and there, to hate the chip, to wish for his freedom. And now—he was afraid. He admitted it to himself ruefully. Yep, the Big Bad was finally scared of something. But hell, he'd already lost Buffy once, he knew how bad it was—yeah, sod it all, damn right he was afraid of losing her again. But could he really still have her, and do this?

Could he do it? Did he want to? Could she trust him? He could still barely wrap his mind around the fact that he had, basically, agreed that he was “good” now, whatever that meant. Sure, he was playing for their team, but did that change who he was? To do this, it would have to.

He looked down at where her lovely face was raised, watching him trustingly, and felt that his cold heart would break for loving her so much. How could she offer this to him, knowing everything? Knowing what he was? It was too much. Kneeling, he took her face in his hands and kissed her thoroughly, ignoring her squeak of surprise. He pulled away, and waited for her eyes to drift open before speaking.

“I love you, Buffy. No, don't say anything. I just wanted to say it. I need to go, to think about this, okay? Thank you. No one has believed in me like this since...well, for a long time. You are one in a bloody million, and don't forget it. If it's all right with you, still, I'll come back here? Later?”

She nodded, wordless; he handed her the pink robe he'd been wearing, which she hugged to her, and he strode off into the darkness. The pounding of his feet on the pavement made him feel better, but his mind still churned uselessly. Underneath it all, though, he was warmed, exhilarated, by her faith in him. In him!

But did he deserve it? Was he really a good guy now, or was he just, what was it they had said about him, hobbled? He had never wanted to change, he liked things before, he'd been happy. Well, not right then, just before the chip he hadn't, not with Dru dumping him and all that. But before that...

He thought back, for the first time in a long time. Thought about killing, slashing and burning. What Red had said about him, last week—she'd been wrong. He hadn't raped or tortured—not since his first victims at least. Them, he had tortured, those men he'd known as a human. But for the century after that...no. Angelus had tried, god knew, to teach him, but it was the fight he liked. The adrenaline rush of the fight you didn't know you'd win. That was the difference between Angel and him, he thought scornfully—Angel liked to play it safe. To pick on the weak. Whereas he, it was all in the risk, for him, and the longer the odds were against him, the better it was.

But then he sagged. Was he so different, really? He liked the fight, but what about all those girls he'd charmed and enticed to his side over the years, lured into alleys and backrooms and left in a lifeless heap? All those men he'd killed in fights, casually, thoughtlessly? What was he, how was he any better? He couldn't be trusted.

But then... he thought about it again. The girls. The bodies. Drinking from them. About Drusilla, the years with her. Taking care of her, keeping her happy. He walked, and thought.

The sun was already tinting the sky when he slipped through the window to Buffy's room, closing the shades tight behind him. He smiled at the sight of her, peaceful in sleep. He undressed swiftly and slipped under the covers, sliding against her, wrapping his arms around her. She snuggled close, sighing, then opened her eyes blearily.

“Hey. Hi. How are you? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, tweaking her nose a little. “Everything is fine. We can talk about it when you wake up.”

“What, no. I'm, I'm awake now. Really.” She blinked and tried to look convincing.

“It can wait, love,” he insisted.

“No, come on.” She sat up, pulling away. “Please?”

“All right then.” He propped himself on one elbow, trying to ignore the glow he felt surrounding him at the sight of her, hair down and gleaming, eyes level and intent on him.

“All right. I was... I know why you asked me to decide, about the chip. I believe you, you trust me. I get it, and it's... I can't tell you what it means to me. That you believe in me, even after everything I've done. And I thought a lot about what I told you, before, about the chip and it being a leash, a punishment. And it's—I'm not saying otherwise. Never. But it's the reason we're here, in this bed, and this is the best thing that's ever happened to me. No, don't—it's okay. I know you don't love me, it's enough that you're with me, like this. But I know, now, what it is to be alive. I thought getting this thing out of my head, going back, would make me happy. But now....

“I thought I was happy, before. I'm dead, I know that—but I didn't know I was letting myself die inside, until I met you. I walked and fed and fought and fucked, like a living thing, I had fun, always—the times me and Dru had, Slayer, you should have seen me in those days! But I was a fool, Buffy. I let myself believe I didn't need the things that make it all worthwhile. This is the only true happiness I've ever known, and next to this, what does it mean to me to kill, even to feast? The thought of it... I don't want to anymore, Slayer. I don't need the chip out, I don't want it. I don't want to go back to being that dead thing. I don't care what I eat, don't care if it's dead. Not as long as I can fight by your side, and with you, and even without you... well, I might just be good after all.

“I never thought... but I guess I don't have the same relish for the kill I once did. Maybe I like taking care of folks a sight better. I'm a right ponce for it, but I guess that's the way it is. I'm just not the same as I was before, and now you're telling me I can be, but I don't think I want to anymore. Even without the chip, I don't think I'd be the same as I was. Working with you lot, this last while—I mean, don't got me wrong, it's been right annoying, but the saving people gig...well, I guess I can see how it gets to be a bit of a habit and all. So I guess you can just tell Ozma to hold onto her little present, and we'll just carry on, yeah? And just so you know—you can count on me. Right?”

Buffy sniffled, wiping her cheeks.

“I know,” she said. “I know I can. And that's why we're going to do this thing. The chip goes.”

 

~~~~~~Two Months Later~~~~~

 

Willow and Dawn were cozily at work doing homework at the dining room table, while Tara cleaned up the dinner remnants. Xander had come over to hang out while Anya stayed late at the Magic Box working on the books, and was watching television and looking settled. In short, everyone except Spike was perfectly relaxed and content. The vampire was ensconced on the porch, smoking cigarettes and drinking beers, waiting anxiously for Buffy to return. It had been two days since Buffy had got on the bus to Los Angeles, brushing off his repeated offers to drive her (“...and spend the whole time we're there trying to keep you and Angel from each others' throats? No thanks, I have business to take care of...”) and he was more than ready for her return, scheduled for tonight.

She had kissed him thoroughly as her bus boarded, and reminded him that he needed to keep everyone safe in her absence—he still couldn't get over that. Not just that she would ask him to take care of her nearest and dearest, but that he would leave them with him at all. There was a time when he would have been mortified at the idea that he was to be trusted, tamed and harmless without even the safeguard of the chip, but now it felt like a hard won prize. Really all he was doing was the same thing as he had been for over a year now; but knowing it was his choice, entirely and willingly, made it feel different. Knowing he could walk off this porch, downtown, and snack on whoever he wanted—well, that was good enough. He didn't need to.

It hadn't been so easy, at first; or rather, he had feared it wouldn't be. He had spent many nights questioning Buffy's judgment and fighting to keep her from regretting it; but in the end, her belief in his goodness had made it impossible for him to fuck it up—how could he let her down when she had been so amazing? How could he be the jerk who ruined that trust and faith? Besides, he really had one up on Angel now! Oh, if only she'd let him go down to LA with her, the things he would say to that big broody ponce. Look pa, no soul, and hey—not terrorizing anyone!

In any case, over time he had mostly forgotten the urges and cravings—it wasn't difficult, really, it had been so long since he'd fed from humans anyway, he'd had plenty of time to adjust. And in the process, he'd made a new friend. He glanced through the window, smiling a little at the table where Willow and Dawn sat. The little witch and he weren't the obvious choice for BFFs, and it had been awkward at first, but they'd grown more and more comfortable with one another, and now... well, she'd been a help.

You wouldn't think a young girl with impulse control problems would be able to relate to the problems of a century old reformed mass murderer, but he found her surprisingly sympathetic and, after they got to know each other, easy to talk to. Easier than Buffy in some ways; no one could ever approach Buffy's place in his heart, but it was easier to confide in someone whose opinion he wasn't so worried about, and well, his Slayer could be a little... judgmental. He smiled affectionately, thinking of her getting all self-righteous and agitated. Whereas the witch was too uncertain of her own place on the spectrum of virtue to cast stones, and was willing to forgive him more, perhaps, than she ought.

As for Willow's dilemmas, he liked to think he'd been able to help the witch out some, as well. She had taken for granted her own goodness for so long that she'd had no idea when to question her motives, to put on the brakes. He, on the other hand, had never even considered the possibility that he could tell on his own if something was okay or not, so he'd learned to scrutinize the humans around him for clues at all times, and that turned out to be something he could teach her as a stopgap measure; while together they worked towards true confidence in their internal moral compasses. Spike still had his doubts, but his girls insisted he had one, as true as any human, and it was just a matter of getting it back in use.

All in all, it had been a bit of a revelation; he had been so sure, always, that his soulless state precluded any ability to judge right from wrong that he hadn't even bothered to try; she had been so sure her soul would keep her on track that she hadn't either; but the more time they spent together, the less the difference seemed to exist. Little by little, Spike had begun to cautiously try out just using his own judgment rather than trying to imagine what Buffy would do. And miraculously, it seemed to be working.

Willow, meanwhile, after overcoming her initial self-doubt, had taken to implementing mental techniques to curb herself and think things through with her usual zeal for organization. She now had a rigid series of steps she used make decisions, and no doubt carefully organized journals full of notes on the whole business squirreled away somewhere. So they didn't need each other's support as much as they had; but the pair still made time to head to the Bronze for a just-the-two-of-them evening regularly, drinking beer and pretending to bitch about their respective girlfriends, though neither of them could keep that up for any length of time before that led to the starry eyed sighing portion of the evening. Not that he, Spike, ever did any of that, of course, but that Willow sure was besotted. Well, good for her—Tara was a right catch and deserved a little cherishing.

And the friendship had had other benefits, as well; he didn't care a bit, of course, if the Watcher and the boy accepted him as long as he could count on the girls to tolerate him, but having another person solidly on his side had helped, and he had to admit it was more pleasant to be on good terms with his new—well, they were sort of his new family in a way, weren't they? Gang, in any case. So while there would always be some distance, it was good to have things run smoothly, and easier for Buffy too.

Spike's ears perked up as he picked up a faint sound in the distance. Was that...yes. Those had to be her footsteps, that purposeful little clomping—so cute! He straightened up, waiting, tensed, for the steps to turn, come down the block, bring her back to him. Would she smell like him? Would she be moody, regretful? What if...no. No no no. Just wait for her, and then...

Buffy came down the block with the springy step of the cheerleader she had been. She bounced onto the porch and into Spike's arms, pulling back away before he could give her more than a quick squeeze. Nudging her bags aside, she sat beside him, bouncing with excitement.

“So, it went well then?” he asked, pulling her hand to him.

“Yeah,” she said, “it totally did! I don't even know why they wanted to make me meet up with them in person, they fully just gave me everything I said I wanted! And they didn't actually really give me too much trouble about why I didn't want them to come to Sunnydale, I think I threw em off, and I didn't have to mention you at all, so I don't think they have any idea you're here, let alone...well, yeah. So I get a monthly salary and it's totally a way lot, good thing I asked Giles what to ask for, I wouldn't have ever... and anyway, not only that, I get reimbursed for stuff to fight evil with—like weapons, for sure. Or if I need to go out of town or something, or, I was thinking, my cleaning bills and stuff!”

“Well, well,” he said, “I'm sitting with a proper Council employee then, is it? Congratulations, love. I'm really happy for you.”

“I know, it's... I can't wait to tell Dawn—I can really take care of her now, I can add to her college fund and everything, like Mom would have...” Buffy looked down briefly, but when she looked back up, her happy grin was back. “And get this, I even got them to say that if Faith gets out and is slaying and stuff, they'll give her the same deal—can you believe that? The rogue slayer even? I bet that made old Travers pretty pissed. Hah!”

Spike smiled at her excitement at getting the Watcher's Council to do her bidding for a change, but he was having a hard time fully sharing her joy. He knew she'd been staying with Angel, of course—after all, the wanker apparently lived in a hotel now, it would hardly make sense for her to go stay in, well, some other hotel. So surely that was the only reason she smelled of him—of course she would. But happy as they had been these past months, content though she seemed, he couldn't forget that he had been her second choice, that if Angel were still an option...

He stirred himself, finding the girl in question looking at him, a sympathetic look on her face. She leaned in and snuggled her head onto his shoulder.

“Missed you,” she said quietly. “I have other stuff to tell you too, but later, 'kay? I wanna go tell everybody about the money, and take a shower, cause the bus—euww.”

“Yeah, I can smell it on you, pet,” he smirked, causing her to jump up.

“Oh god why didn't you say something? Gross, gross, yuck...” and she grabbed her stuff and headed in.

Everyone was delighted to hear Buffy's news, but it wasn't much of a surprise really—the trip to LA was really a formality, it had been clear that the Council would say yes, already had. The other news from the big city required a bit more discussion—Angel had a baby?! There were some other bits of gossip to touch on, but that one really took the cake. But even so, the household settled before too long.

Spike waited in Buffy's bedroom—which had become their room, really—while she showered, feeling uncomfortably apprehensive. It occurred to him that he would normally be sneaking into the bathroom right about now to offer a hand, but he couldn't seem to do it. What if she didn't want him to? No, he'd wait to hear what it was that she wanted to tell him. Soon enough, she came in, bring a cloud of steamy, flowery smells with her.

“I don't really feel like I'm home, having a whole shower all alone,” she said quizzically, “might as well still be in LA.”

He felt relieved that she'd showered alone in Los Angeles, then annoyed at himself.

“Wanted to give you a moment to yourself I suppose,” he muttered, then, twitching an eyebrow, “Be happy to give you a hand drying off though...”

She smiled at the familiar leer, feeling a charge at his eyes trailing over her. He seemed to straighten a bit at the scent of her arousal, and his hand trailed carelessly across his chest and tight stomach, finding a resting spot at the waist of his jeans where the fingers could drop down to frame his growing bulge. Even as she dropped the towel and drifted towards him, though, he stood and shook his head.

“Wait, love.” He grabbed her pink robe and wrapped her in it, tying the belt in front as she stood, unresisting, befuddled.

“You don't want—is everything all right? I thought you said....?” she trailed off, totally lost.

“I want, I want. I do. But you said you had something to tell me, and well, let's just talk first, yeah? I just want to know, first, if... if there's anything I should know,” he finished lamely.

She was still standing in the middle of the floor staring blankly at him. “You don't think—Spike seriously? Is this about Angel? Cause you know I wouldn't...”

“Well, I don't know squat, do I?” Spike exclaimed. “I know you'd be with him if you had the choice, don't I? And if he can have a bleedin' child, with Darla, for chrissake, well who knows what other mojo he might have cooked up down there?! And even without all that, you haven't seen him, since... we... and look, if this is gonna be some kind of goodbye pity shag, well all right, but I wanna know it first, that's all. All right? So just tell me what you wanted to tell me and let's get on with it.”

Buffy had been speechless throughout Spike's increasingly agitated monologue, but when he wound down she snapped to. She crossed quickly to where he had sat back down on the bed and was looking defiantly up at her, and lowered herself to sit on his lap. Cupping his face in her hands she looked at him fondly.

“Ya big dummy, is that what you think? That I want to be with Angel? That I'm just killing time with you?”

“I, no, I mean—well, yeah! And don't get me wrong, you can kill time with me all you want to, I've got plenty to spare, but, let a bloke know, is the thing, right?”

“Spike, I wasn't—it isn't anything like that. I cannot even think how to properly stress the nothing that happened between me and Angel down there just now! I mean, even aside from the bickering, and the fact that he barely even noticed I was there most of the time, being so busy with the baby, and good god is that still weird to say, but anyway, no. No way. Plus I think him and Cordy are kind of a thing, which, ew, but whatever. The point is, I don't even care. And that is not what I was going to say, okay? So will you just relax already?”

“Hmmm. Yeah, okay then...” Spike was taking her at her word and nuzzling his nose into the opening of the robe. “But wait,” he said, popping his head back up, “what the hell did you get me all worried for? It had to be something, so out with it, would you? Quit trying to distract me and come clean!”

“Oh well, this wasn't really how I pictured... I thought maybe you'd be happy to see me, and we'd... you know...” her hand trailed suggestively down his front, “and then we'd be all snuggled up with maybe just a candle, or not, and I'd say, I have something to tell you, and then you'd say, yes darling...”

“Darling, huh? Well plenty of time for snuggling later, pet, but maybe I can help with the rest. Nuh! Not that! Just hold on, you...” and he squeezed out from under her, using his superhuman speed to flip her off his lap and into bed, close the curtains, light a candle, turn off the lights and shed his clothes in a flash, returning to slip under the covers beside Buffy.

“Cheers, love, cozy enough? Now let's get this out of the way. Give it to me, then.” He looked expectantly at her.

Buffy blushed and stammered a bit more. Finally she buried her face in his muscular chest and began speaking into it, knowing he could hear her just fine.

“I just wanted to... I hadn't seen Angel since right after I came back, you know, like you said, and that time was—well pretty awful, actually. But I was such a mess, it could have just been me, and that whole time—it's all pretty fuzzy, to be honest. So whatever. So I didn't really know what it would be like to see him! I mean, I don't want to be with him, that's totally over. Seriously Spike,” looking up briefly to meet his eyes, “it is over. But anyway I was kind of nervous, I didn't really know what it would be like. When I was with Riley—quit growling! When I was with Riley I still... I didn't want to be with Angel, but I, I had feelings.

“But I got down there, and... I really really don't, anymore. So that was something! But it's not only that—I saw him, and we started right in, him acting all old and wise and, well he is way older than me, I'll give him that, but he always acts like I'm just some dumb little girl that doesn't know what's best for myself... and he started in on me, and I just realized... well, I thought I was really in love with him, you know?”

She noticed that Spike's chest had ceased to rise and fall beneath her cheek.

“And I never really questioned that, even when I figured we'd never be together again. But I don't think I was, Spike. I don't think that's love, that it ever was. I was just a dumb teenager and I wanted it to be some big, epic, forever thing... but he never saw me, he doesn't even want to! He just wants me to be, to be this, like—I don't even know. This idea or something! It makes me so mad! And then when he started in on you, us being together, like he knew all about it, I just saw everything—I love you, Spike.”

“What?!” he raised himself on an elbow, spilling her off him, the shock on his face visible even in the dim light.

She broke into a giggle at his reaction. “Yeah, that's pretty much what I wanted to tell you. I just—the way we are together, the way you—we're friends, and we've hated each other and tried to kill each other and all of it, but I think there was some part of me that always knew you were, I don't know. Like me, or something. And then since I came back—god even before, I just couldn't even see it, but you've been amazing. And the things you've accomplished, the way you've changed and been so strong—it's incredible. I've never known anyone who would—could—do all the things you've done. I love you. That's all.”

He was looking at her with such awe and wonder that she lost the urge to laugh entirely. She gazed back at him, suddenly nervous, overwhelmed. How could she be worthy of this adoration? The way he looked at her...

“You never stop amazing me, Buffy,” he finally said, his voice a barely audible rumble. “You... I love you. I love you more every sodding day, and you make me so happy I don't even know what to say. I never thought you could love me, and I didn't even, I woulda stayed forever anyway. I would stay with you while you waited around for Angel, while you did whatever you bloody well wanted just to be close by you, but this is... thank you. For everything. I will never give you cause to regret any of this. I promise you that.”

“I know,” she said simply, and drew him close.

As he fell asleep that night, Spike wondered if he would wake up to find all of this had been a dream. It seemed like too much, too good for even a reformed monster like himself to hope for. But he could smell her scent surrounding him, feel her arms clutching him as if she were afraid that he would slip away, and hear the faint sounds of the rest of the household sleeping around them, reassuringly human and warm. Without asking himself when he had come to find the press of humanity comforting, he slipped off to sleep, content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sniff sniff. When I started writing this, I intended it to be about ½ as long. Then I was all, okay, so it's longer than I thought, but when this story is done, I'm really really going to buckle down and work on other stuff full time! No more fanfic! Now I keep thinking about Spike and Willow and how much I want to write that story... so I might. If that's something you want to see, look for it I guess. Anyway, thank you thank you so much. I hope you had fun-- I know I did. Mwah! (That's to you, for reading, for reviewing, for letting me know you like it.)


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